


Danse Macabre

by Nightfoot



Category: Tales of Vesperia
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Angst, CW: Suicide Mention, Drama, M/M, Minor Character Death, Romance, Supernatural Elements, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-01
Updated: 2018-05-26
Packaged: 2019-02-09 01:04:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 24
Words: 129,343
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12876876
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nightfoot/pseuds/Nightfoot
Summary: In a small town in France, Yuri watches a mysterious newcomer move in.  Although he quickly befriends Flynn Scifo, the newcomer quickly proves to have a past full of questions and life of secrets.  As their feelings for each other grow stronger and Flynn begins to let Yuri into his life, outside forces make life more difficult than ever and it will take everything they have to stay together when it seems like fate itself it trying to tear them apart.





	1. Newcomer

**Author's Note:**

> Here's another elaborate historical AU with some fantasy elements! Please mind the tags.

The moon glistened on freshly fallen snow. It was a cold winter; the coldest one in memory. Through this dark and frozen night, a man took a shambling step forward. His foot plunged into snow and he stumbled, throwing out a hand to catch himself on a nearby birch tree. For a moment he paused, gasping to catch his breath and feeling the cold air burn his throat and lungs. He moved that hand back to press against his chest again when he continued moving. A bright red hand print stood out starkly against the white bark. 

Close. He was so close. Behind him, a trail of stumbling footprints revealed his long trek along the stream, but he kept his eyes fixed firmly ahead. There, moonlight illuminated the snow-covered steeple of Zaphias’ church. He just had to… make it…. 

He stumbled again, and this time he dropped to his knees. Freezing snow pierced his pants legs and a shiver wracked his body. He leaned forward and pressed his hands into the ground to push himself up, but pain and weariness held him back. Bright red splattered onto the white snow below him. With a grunt, he managed to rise to his feet again, but he tripped over a rock after only a few more steps and collapsed forward. Sprawled on his chest in the snow, he tried to find the strength to get up again. He shivered again; he could feel the warmth draining out of his chest and seeping into the snow. Just get up, keep moving, reach the town and everything would be alright….

Snow crunched under heavy footfalls. The man peered up through blurred vision and saw a person walking toward him, coming from town. Thank God, help had arrived. 

The stranger crouched before him and spoke in a deep, gentle voice. “It’s alright now. You’re coming back with me.”

“Th… thank….” He didn’t even have the strength to speak. He tried to make out any details about his rescuer, but all he saw was a wide-brimmed hat silhouetted by the moon. His head tipped forward again, too exhausted to wonder about their identity. Someone else was here, so he could stop pushing himself to stay conscious now. As he dipped into darkness, church bells began to clang midnight.

* * *

 

The sun was high in the sky as Flynn drove his coach toward Zaphias. The wheels trundled over the dirt road as it wound down the side of the hill. To his right, the road dropped off in a steep ravine culminating in a stream. Flynn had to squint against the bright sun as it reflected off both the thin coating of snow on the ground and shimmered on the English Channel ahead of him. It had been a slow journey through the rough and steep hills that made up the interior of the peninsula, especially during winter, but their destination was in sight and Flynn looked forward to sleeping in a proper bed tonight. 

“Sir…” said Sodia on the bench beside him, “this is your last chance to reconsider.”

“I have nothing to reconsider, Sodia. I’ve been looking forward to coming here.”

She shifted uncomfortably. Though she was nominally his housekeeper, Flynn had so few friendly acquaintances and employed so few servants that he considered her more of a friend. He would be perfectly happy for her to speak to him as an equal, though Sodia had never been able to bring herself to do so. “It just… seems unwise to come here at this time. You should wait a few more years, perhaps.”

“It will be fine. We were in Kemper for too long, and besides, I think you’ll like it here.” 

She bit her lip. Obviously she still didn’t agree, but wasn’t going to keep pestering him. 

After ten more minutes of driving, the coach finally reached the bottom of the hill and now drove along the banks of the stream toward Zaphias. A light cover of snow dusted the meadow between the hill and the town, contrasting with the deep blue sky overheard. Last December had been unusually warm, and today - the first day of the year 1628 - hinted that the rest of the winter would continue as such. Near the entrance to the town, they drove past a lichen-encrusted cavalry standing watch. It was a pillar of stone sitting on pedestal about two feet square. At the top of the pillar, the carving gave way to a broad platform with a crucifix and human figures. This one, Flynn knew, had been erected a century and a half ago after a particularly nasty outbreak of the plague in an attempt to ward it off from striking the village again. Flynn had seen many similar structures - some far larger and more elaborate and others even simpler - all across the countryside in his travels across Brittany. 

They entered the town proper and now drove past curious residents rather than empty fields. Flynn nodded and smiled at anyone he made eye contact with as the coach wheels bounced on the cobbled streets. Zaphias was a town of decent size; not quite as large as Saint-Malo several miles down the coast, but larger than most of the villages that spotted the countryside. The houses he passed were half-timbered or else made of stone, and the smell of salt and fresh fish hung on the air. Cheerful voices rang through the streets as friends and family wished each other a happy new year. Though the Duchy of Brittany had been brought into the Kingdom of France almost a hundred years ago, the French language was still rarely heard this far west, where the Breton language thrived. 

Flynn arrived at his new house in the heart of town with a tail of curious children. They stood in a close group, whispering among themselves as Flynn hopped down from the coach and reached into his jacket for the key to the wrought iron gate. He’d finalized the purchase of this property back in Kemper without seeing it in person, and was eager to find out if the seller had been honest in his descriptions. The whispering behind him grew louder and louder as he fiddled with the lock on the gate, and just after he opened it, he spun around with a swish of his cloak. “Boo!”

The children jumped, yelled, and laughed, and Flynn joined them in it. With a friendly grin, he said, “I’ll give one sou to anyone who helps me carry bags into the house.”

This kicked off a rush for his coach as children scrambled to clamber up to reach the bags stashed on the roof. “Easy!” Flynn called as one boy began trying to lift a heavy trunk. “I said the  bags! Leblanc, help him, please, before he hurts himself.” 

Leblanc, his only other servant who’d been riding at the back, climbed to the roof and picked up the heavy trunk before it could crush the enthusiastic boy. Flynn handed him the house key and then stood back by the gate to watch him, Sodia, and the entourage of eager children begin unloading the coach. Standing by the gate, Flynn had to say he was pleased with his purchase so far. The house sat on a broad cobbled street a block away from the church, with a walled in front garden that was sure to be impressive come spring. The house itself had two storeys of mixed stone and half-timber siding, and based on the sound of yelling and running feet inside, the interior was quite spacious. 

“If I help out,” said a new voice that startled him, “can I get two sous, seeing as I’m twice as big as the kids and can carry more stuff?”

Flynn turned around and saw a young man leaning against the garden wall with his arms folded. He had dark, lanky hair and a cocky grin, and an intrigued expression as his eyes darted over the dark wood of the coach and Flynn’s appearance. Flynn automatically drew his cloak tighter around himself, feeling as if the man was looking straight through him. “I’m afraid there isn’t much more to carry in. My valet and the children have got it all.”

The young man strolled toward the coach. “Really? That’s all you brought? Where’s all your furniture?”

“The sale of the house included furnishings.”

The man gripped the handle of the coach. “Nothing else in-”

“Don’t.” Flynn grabbed the man’s wrist a moment before he opened the door. He startled, narrowed his eyes in confusion at Flynn’s deadly-serious expression, and then let go of the door.

“Oookay. Sorry. Didn’t mean to intrude.” 

Flynn didn’t release his grip until the man’s arm went slack. “I apologize for startling you. It’s very important that you leave the coach alone, however.”

The man clearly had no idea why Flynn was making such a big deal about this, but shrugged and nodded. “Sure thing. The name’s Yuri, by the way. You?”

“Flynn Scifo. I’m a merchant out of Kemper, but I’ve decided to move to Zaphias due to its proximity to the Channel and England,” Flynn recited his rehearsed explanation. 

“Oh, yeah? And what do you sell?” Yuri nudged the coach with his elbow. “Top secret illegal stuff, right?”

Flynn straightened up and frowned. “Absolutely not.”

“Ha, ok. You must be brave, though, to buy this house.”

Flynn’s indignation turned to curiosity. “Oh? Why do you say that?” He turned his gaze to it, but didn’t see anything worrying about the old grey stone or naked trees. 

“Due to its horrible history, of course. Didn’t you hear before buying? The previous owner went mad a couple months ago before murdering his daughter in the drawing room and then hanging himself in the master bedroom.” He held up his hands to wiggle his fingers and dropped his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “I’ve heard you can still hear the daughter’s wailing drifting out of an open window on quiet nights.”

Flynn nodded slowly with a deadpan expression. “Yes. I see. Would this be the same previous owner I met in Kemper last week, who explained he was selling the house because his daughter recently passed away and he didn’t want to stay there with all the memories? And she drowned in the sea, nowhere near the house?”

Yuri dropped his arms and shrugged. “I mean, yeah, that’s another way of telling the story.”

Flynn chuckled and shook his head. “I think I’ll manage to avoid the ghosts.”

Leblanc left the house and approached Flynn at the gate. “Sir, the children have put all your bags in your room but I told them we would take care of unpacking.”

Flynn turned away from Yuri. “Very good, thank you. Please take the coach around to the back and I’ll handle paying our helpful movers.”

Flynn bade Yuri a polite farewell and then entered his new house. The front room had polished wooden floors and panelled walls, but he followed the sounds of giggles to find the kids around the hearth in the drawing room. One of the boys and clambered into it and stuck his head up the chimney. When his friends saw Flynn coming, they began frantically whispering, “Ted, Ted, get out of there!”

Flynn reached the hearth just as the boy - the same boy who had tried to lift the trunk - crawled out of it with soot in his hair. He cowered away from Flynn and stammered, “I - I’m sorry, sir!”

Flynn shook his head with a smile. “It’s alright. It’s your mother you’ll have to apologize to for getting soot all over yourself. Now then, I believe I owe all of you some money?”

It took half an hour for the children to finally leave. Though Flynn was hardly a noble, he was still the wealthiest man any of them had ever spoken to, or at least, who had ever deigned to speak back to them. Flynn didn’t have the heart to kick them out while they had fun exploring all the dusty rooms with him. So it wasn’t until after they got bored and ran off to continue playing outside that he finally made his way to the coach house at the back and found Leblanc tending to the pair of horses. 

“Everything all right with them?”

Leblanc nodded. “Yes, sir. Fit as a fiddle. I think they like their new home.”

“Good. I think their owner does, too.” He rubbed his nose and added, “Very dusty, though. I think I’ll hire some people from town to assist Sodia in the initial cleaning. It seems far too much work to do herself.”

“Good idea, sir.”

“And all the children tracked snow and mud on the floors… that was my fault for allowing them, so I’ll clean that up myself.”

“She won’t let you, sir.”

Flynn reached the side of the coach. “I’ll do it when she’s not looking, then.” Then he opened the door and revealed an interior seating area with two padded benches and dark curtains over the windows. The interior was empty, save for a bundle of fabric and a broad-brimmed hat sitting on the front bench. Flynn grabbed these, shut the door again, and returned to his new house.

* * *

 

Yuri had worked at Ar Kometenn since he was old enough to mop floors. Hanks had taken him in after being orphaned as a toddler, but even at a young age he’d felt compelled to do something to earn some money and not be a burden. At the age of twenty-one now, his duties had greatly expanded from mopping and now including cooking, serving, taking orders, fixing the roof, buying supplies, and anything else that needed doing at Zaphias’ most popular tavern. 

In the evening of January first, he sat with his feet up on the chair opposite him at a table with Rita, Karol, and Estelle. Ar Kometenn was quieter than usual because most people were at home with their families, so Yuri had enough free time to relax by the fire and enjoy the holiday himself. 

“It was the weirdest thing,” he was in the middle of telling his friends. “He just grabbed my wrist in a death-grip as if he was stopping me from murdering his first born or something.”

Karol rolled his eyes. “Yuri, you were trying to open the door to his private coach. He probably had personal stuff in there.”

“No kidding,” Rita said. “I’d slap you, too, if you tried snooping in my stuff.”

Karol snickered. “Yeah, Rita, but that’s for our own good because your stuff might explode and kill us.”

Rita, who had run Zaphias’ apothecary since her parents died a few years back, just shrugged. “Well, yeah.” Yuri was pretty sure that most apothecarists didn’t spend so much time experimenting with ingredients in the back room after hours, and that most apothecarists didn’t stock so many items that could potentially explode, but then, Rita had never been ordinary. 

“I wonder what it was,” Estelle said with wide eyes. “Oooh, maybe there was a girl with him, lurking in the coach! And they left Kemper to escape from her restrictive parents and ran away to be together!”

Yuri reached across the hearth to put another log on the fire. “You read too many fairy tales, Estelle. I bet it was something embarrassing. Like… ointment for ass boils.”

Estelle wrinkled her nose. “I like my idea better.”

“There’s no way you’re grossed out, Estelle,” Karol said. “I heard you telling Rita about all the pus you cleaned from that wound last month.”

Estelle pouted and folded her hands around her mug of cider. “I can still think it’s gross even if I’m willing to put up with it for a good cause.”

Rita patted her shoulder. “Anyway, you said this guy is from Kemper?”

“Yep. So, at least he’s not French.”

The door swung open and a gust of chilly air swept into the room. None other than Flynn himself entered the tavern and quickly forced the door shut behind him. The few other patrons sitting around glanced up at him curiously but then went back to their own food and conversation.

“Well, look who it is.” Yuri rose from the table and strolled over to the new arrival. “Isn’t this place a little shabby for a big-shot merchant like you?”

Flynn brushed snow off his jacket collar. “I don’t employ a chef and haven’t had time to stock a kitchen. I was hoping I could get some dinner here.”

In all honesty, Flynn didn’t seem like a bad guy. Yuri had a knee-jerk reaction to resent anyone who owned his own horse, but he’d seen Flynn interact with the kids this morning and saw no compelling reason to assume he was a bastard. “Come on, sit down with us. I’ll get you something from the kitchen. What are you in the mood for?” He wrapped an arm around Flynn’s shoulders and guided him to the table.

“Oh, huh, I’m not sure.” Flynn frowned as he lowered himself into Yuri’s vacated chair.

“Trick question; all we have tonight is mussels and galettes.”

Flynn smiled a little and rolled his eyes. “A galette, then.”

Yuri left Flynn with his friends and made his way to the kitchen. Galettes were easy to make without much concentration. They were basically just crepes but made with buckwheat flour instead of white. He hummed a Christmas carol to himself as he stirred the batter. The stairs creaked as he poured it into the pan and he glanced up to see Mari, the owner’s daughter, coming down to check why he was heating up the kitchen again. 

“Don’t worry about it,” Yuri told her. “It’s that new guy I mention, who bought the old house by the cathedral.”

Mari rubbed her bulging stomach. “He’s eating here? I think we have nice porcelain plates somewhere.”

Yuri considered the sparse belongings Flynn had moved in with, the money he threw at children for doing a task he could have easily accomplished himself, and Ted’s excited stories about all the nooks and crannies in the big old house Flynn had let them explore. “I don’t think he’s like that, actually. Don’t worry about it. You and the baby should get some rest.”

“Ok… happy new year, Yuri.”

“Happy new year.” Yuri enjoyed working at Ar Kometenn. Yuri had known the Lagadeg family since he was small, back when he and Mari used to play together. Yuri considered a good portion of the residents of Zaphias to be his adoptive family, but Mr. and Mrs. Lagadeg featured higher on the list of importance than most.

As he finished cooking, he set the bowl on the floor and whistled. Repede, the dog he’d taken in as a stray puppy several years back, hurried out of his nap in the shadows to lick the batter from the bowl. Yuri scratched him between the ears before carrying the plate back to the table. He found Flynn engaged in conversation with Estelle and Karol, telling them about Kemper. That city was on the other side of Brittany, but neither of them had ever been beyond the range of their parish so it might as well be as exotic as Spain. Rita, who had gone as far as Saint-Malo to trade goods for the apothecary, tried to look like she wasn’t interested. 

Yuri clattered the plate in front of Flynn. “Enjoy. Pay me later. Also, you stole my seat.”

“I apologize!” Flynn started to rise, but Yuri pushed down on his shoulder and sat on the heart instead. 

“Don’t worry about it. So, Flynn, we were talking about you earlier.” 

Estelle gave Yuri a mortified look that he would bring this up, but Yuri charged ahead at Flynn’s raised eyebrows.

“Just what were you carrying in that coach, anyway? My theory is a dead body. It’s a dead body, right?”

Flynn dropped his fork and quickly swallowed. “W-what kind of person do you take me for?!” 

Rita snorted and rolled her eyes. “Real subtle, Yuri. You should go join the Spanish Inquisition.”

Flynn frowned and cut a piece of his galette with delicacy, so as not to wield his knife in the fashion of a murderer. “It was absolutely not a dead body. I don’t know why you’re making so big a deal over this. I had private, personal items being carried in the interior that I didn’t want bandied about on the street. Does that satisfy you?”

It didn’t, but only because Yuri remembered the ferocity of Flynn’s glare this afternoon and the strength of his grip on Yuri’s wrist. That was hardly a reaction to something as simple as concealing one’s underwear, and besides, there had been hardly anyone else on the street at the time. Whatever it was, therefore, needed to be even more embarrassing than that and Yuri wondered if Flynn had been carrying amusing contraptions of a sexual nature or something of that sort. 

“See, Yuri?” Estelle said. “Flynn has never killed anybody.”

The way Flynn’s eyes shot to Estelle and then immediately back to his supper to take a hasty bite caused everyone to look at him. 

Estelle hesitated. “Er… you haven’t, have you?”

Flynn finished chewing slowly to give himself time to gather his thoughts and what to say. From his few interactions with him, Yuri had already concluded that Flynn was a bad liar and no doubt fretting over what to say, since he couldn’t easily shake it off with a lie.

“That… is not entirely true,” Flynn said. “I used to be a soldier.”

“Oh, that’s ok, then.” Karol, who had been looking very frightened after Flynn confirmed he’d killed someone, relaxed with the rest of the story. “I mean, killing people is never  good , but it’s different to kill soldiers on the battlefield.”

“Makes you less of a dangerous maniac, sure,” Rita said. 

“I still think it’s sad.” Estelle gazed mournfully into her cider. 

Flynn nodded slowly. “It is sad. It’s strange, isn’t it, that we think it’s more reassuring that a man is able to kill total strangers purely due to orders, than that a man might kill someone he has a personal grudge with?”

“I’m not so sure.” Yuri poked the fire with a stick as he spoke. “In the middle of a battle, you’re all trying to kill each other so it could be considered self-defence. Killing your neighbours, though? People you’ve known all your life? That’s screwed up.”

They sat in silence, mulling over the gruesome topic until Karol tried to push it onward. “So, where did you fight? Were you in any major battles?”

“Italy. I would prefer not going into too much detail, if you don’t mind.”

Karol leaned back in his chair sheepishly. “Oh, right, of course. Sorry about that.”

As the conversation continued, Yuri started putting together the pieces of what kind of man Flynn seemed to be. He had to admit, he’d met far worse rich merchants.

* * *

 

The next day was Sunday, which meant Yuri spent the morning in church more because that was just what people did than out of any earnest devotion. As far as he was concerned, any god that may or may not exist ought to do something to prove He gave a rat’s ass about the world before Yuri got on his knees for Him. Almost thirty years ago, the wars between Catholics and Protestants that had ravaged France for most of the sixteenth century had ended - ostensibly - in peace and toleration. However, that didn’t meant that Yuri’s life in this specific part of Brittany wouldn’t be made considerably more difficult if he didn’t put on a show of being a good Catholic. 

When mass was over, Yuri met Repede in the square out front. Mass would be so much more bearable if dogs were allowed inside, Yuri had always thought. This afternoon, Karol would be home with his family, Estelle would be busy making rounds to the handful of pregnant women to check on their health, and Rita had to manage her shop, so he didn’t bother waiting around for them to exit and just rounded the building to avoid the crowd spilling out and knelt to give Repede some attention. The grey paving stones around Zaphias’ central square only had a sparse dusting of snow around the corners and cracks. The stone still sent a chill through his pant leg and into his knees, but it was bearable. After all, Repede had waited for him outside in it all morning.

Yuri had been happily focusing on his dog and little else when he overheard someone say, “…Flynn Scifo, did you say?”

Yuri had spotted Flynn sitting near the back at mass this morning, but that was hardly time to make enough impression on the populace to be the subject of gossip. Around a stone pillar built into the side of the church, he spotted Magistrate Ragou in conversation with Lord Alexei, who lived in the chateau just outside of town. 

“That’s correct, my lord,” Ragou said. “From Kemper.”

“Hm….” Alexei folded his hands behind his back and turned his gaze to the street leading away from the square upon which Flynn lived. “What do you know of him?” 

Alexei spoke Breton with a French accent. His family had begun speaking French after the duchy was absorbed into France, presumably to further their chances of making a good impression on the king or other high-ranking nobles. Yuri didn’t pay enough attention to courtly intrigue to know if it had worked, but it did mean that the Dinoias had always been seen as outsiders, even though they’d owned the land for centuries. For his part, though, Alexei was all right. Yuri had only been a kid when Alexei inherited the title and estate from his father, but the older generations tended to speak highly of him. He was different, a lot of them said - he hadn’t forgotten that he was Breton before he was French. Hanks said it was because Alexei was a younger son, and not raised from birth to feel entitled to everything. Then his older brother had died in the religious wars, but the humility from being a second son remained. 

“Very little, sir,” Ragou was saying. “His financial records and travel documents checked out when he purchased the house, though they were unusually sparse. He seems to have very little recorded involvement in the world, other than a military record.”

“Did he give any details about his military history?”

Yuri slowed his petting of Repede to pay more attention to the conversation. He had his own questions about Flynn’s past, but why Lord Alexei of all people would care about him baffled Yuri. 

“Briefly, briefly.” Ragou fiddled with the furred collar of his shirt and shivered in the cold. His pale cheeks were pink from the chill. “He claimed to have done his service in the Italian region. I asked if he meant the 1625 conflict in Genoa and he confirmed.”

“Interesting. And how did a simple soldier come into the wealth to purchase that house?”

“His financial statement listed a benefactor called Niren. Apparently, he inherited this Niren’s business upon his passing.”

“I see. Thank you.”

“You!” Ragou had suddenly noticed Yuri crouching by the wall and listening. “Street wretch, what are you doing?”

“I dropped my wallet.” Yuri didn’t even bother pretending to shove a wallet into his shirt.

Ragou snorted. “As if filth like you even has a wallet. Move on before I summon guards to move you.”

“Yeah, I’m tired of listening to you anyway. C’mon, Repede.” 

Yuri made his way back to Ar Kometenn, mulling over Flynn all the way. The only conclusion he’d reached by the time he made it back was that Flynn was a weird guy, but he seemed to be an alright guy nonetheless. They’d chatted for hours last night and he’d gotten along great with Estelle, Rita, and Karol, and even Repede seemed to like him. If Ragou didn’t like him, that was even more of a reason to think he was fine, because Ragou reminded Yuri of slimy things found under rocks in tide pools. 

Back in the kitchen, he set to work preparing for the evening dinner rush. Almost an hour later, the Lagadegs arrived home. They’d been held up socializing after church and then walking slowly thanks to Mari’s pronounced pregnancy. Mr. Lagadeg met Yuri in the kitchen.

“Looks like you’ve been working hard.”

Yuri glanced at his pile of peeled potatoes and shrugged. “Just trying to get it done.”

“I was wondering if you could take on another job for me.”

“Ha. Does that mean you’re going to pay me more?”

Mr. Lagadeg grinned. “Let’s work that out after I see if you even do a good job. I’d have Mari do this normally, but she shouldn’t be doing any work right now and soon enough she’ll have the baby to take care of. But anyway, you know that rich bloke that just moved in? Flynn Something-or-Other?”

Yuri nodded without looking up from the potato he was peeling. “I’ve seen him around.”

“He talked to me after mass today about arranging for meal deliveries. He doesn’t have a chef on staff, so he was hoping we could cater his meals and deliver them to his dining room.”

“And let me guess: you want me to be the delivery boy?”

“It would be a real help. He’s paying quite handsomely, and hired several of Mari’s friends to help tidy up the place, too. If he’s going to move in and start throwing money around, I’m happy to catch as much of it as I can.”

“Heh. Yeah, no problem, it’s not that far away.” Besides, it might be interesting to have an excuse to go inside Flynn’s house and try to find out a little more about him. 


	2. A Voice in the Dark

Yuri arrived at Flynn’s house that evening with a platter covered by a cloche. He banged on the door at the tradesman’s entrance and was greeted by a young woman with fiery hair.

“Good evening,” the woman said. “You must be from the tavern. Please, come in.”

Yuri entered a disused kitchen. The man who used to live here hadn’t made much use of it either, as far as Yuri knew. Yuri did all his cooking in a cramped tavern kitchen and gazed longing at the state-of-the-art oven. How much nicer it would be to cook in here, and it was just sitting around unused. From the kitchen, they went down a short hallway to the dining room, a wood-panelled room with a large window overlooking the front garden.

“Mr. Scifo is in a meeting at the moment,” the woman told Yuri. “You can set things up and he’ll be here soon.”

“Sure.” As he began placing the cutlery on the table, he asked, “Who’s he meeting? I could have brought two meals.”

“A business associate. She will not be eating with him.”

“Alright then.” Yuri lifted the shiny silver lid of the cloche and revealed a steaming plate of mussels and potatoes. “Too bad for her. Do you want some?”

The woman was taken aback. “From Mr. Scifo’s dinner?”

“He’s not here yet, and it’s not like he’ll notice if one fewer mussel is on the plate. They’re pretty good.”

She lifted her nose at him and took a haughty breath. “No, thank you, I choose not to steal from my employer.”

Yuri rolled his eyes. “You don’t have to make such a big deal about it.” He’d never met a servant who wasn’t aware that life had some unspoken understandings about the relationship between those that lived upstairs and those that lived downstairs. One of them was that if you could afford to hire people to live downstairs and tend to your needs, then you were rich enough to not notice some minor items vanishing - things like half-burned candles or small samples of food. Nicking those things wasn’t stealing, it was perks. Yuri often took leftover food back to Hanks, and he was sure Mr. Lagadeg knew, they just never discussed it. Sure, every now and then you found a miserly old grump who measured candlesticks by the line and would fire someone over removing one before it was unusable, but Yuri highly doubted Flynn was of the sort.

He carried the platter and cloche under his arm and left them on the kitchen counter. “I’ll be back in an hour to pick up the plates, shall I?” Yuri left the house, feeling as though he’d made a very poor first impression on Flynn’s housekeeper. Outside, the sun had long set considering it was only a couple of weeks after the winter solstice. Faint moonlight gleamed on fresh snow that had fallen that afternoon and Yuri tightened the threadbare scarf around his neck. He should have nicked a candle from Flynn’s house, if his housekeeper wouldn’t have chopped off his hand for daring. Only a thin crescent of moon still remained, which didn’t do much to illuminate his walk back to Ar Kometenn. He hunched his shoulders against the chill and concentrated on not spraining an ankle on the icy cobblestones.

His mind turned to the rest of the evening as he passed the church and then the low stone wall of the town graveyard. The tavern didn’t stay open that late in the winter since the cost of illuminating it after dark counterbalanced any revenue they might make. But, there would still be pots and pans to scrub when he got back, and then picking up Flynn’s dishes and washing those, and then seeing what leftovers were available to take home to Hanks, who, as the resident gravedigger, was the only one feeling irritated that no one in town had died since that girl over a month ago. Yuri shared his frustration with not being paid, even if he did feel guilty about wishing some anonymous person would die just to get some work.

As if in cosmic punishment, Yuri put his foot down on a particularly knobbly cobblestone just as he thought that. His leg twisted, he stumbled, and then banged his knee on the street with a wince. “Ow, ok, I’m sorry.” He grimaced and grabbed the top of the stone wall to help himself get up and lean against it. His fingers buried into half an inch of snow, but he appreciated their numbness when he pressed his frigid hand against his inflamed knee.

Then a female voice giggled. He whipped his head around, but all he saw was the distant light of a candle in a window on the other side of the graveyard.

“Uh… hello?” There was just enough ambient light to make out the shapes of the gravestones nearest the wall, but beyond them, the depths of the winter night gave nothing back. Had he actually heard someone laugh? The possibilities were that he had imagined a very distinct voice as some form of hallucination, or that some girl was lurking the darkness of the graveyard at night and watching him. Neither of those options were particularly appealing, but he preferred the latter, because it seemed like a problem he could do something about. “Who’s there?!”

The elusive stalker gave no response. Yuri frowned, glanced back at the church and wondered if he’d been too quick to write-off supernatural phenomena, and then swung his legs over the wall and entered the graveyard. His knee twinged, but already the pain was fading. Tomorrow he was sure to have a bruise, but for now, he could ignore it. “It’s not nice to spy on people, you know!” Yuri took a few strides into the graveyard and then banged his already sore knee on a stone cross. He hissed some words that he probably shouldn’t say in the vicinity of the church, and then that damned snicker came again, off to his right this time. Yuri angled himself that way, but moved slower this time and moved with his arms stretched out to feel his way. He wove between graves, ears always alert for any other sign of life. He was making plenty of noise crunching in the snow, tripping over gravestones, and sniffling from the cold, so surely the other person nearby would give off some audible cues. Other than the two giggles, though, he heard nothing.

When he was so far into the graveyard that he couldn’t see the street anymore and might as well be adrift in an ocean of darkness, it occurred to him that there was another option beyond the sound being his imagination and the sound coming from another living person. Yuri wasn’t keen to believe it, but, well, a graveyard was certainly the place to consider the possibility of a ghost. His hands landed on a face and for a moment he startled, thinking he’d found the culprit. A second later, he realized the face was stone and, by following the shape of its robe to an even large blocker of stone, assumed he’d hit the calvary in the heart of the graveyard . Maybe that explained the feeling of being watched, because he knew this structure contained half a dozen figures carved around a central cross with a crucified Christ at the top.

Yuri snatched his hand away from the statue. His skin crawled at the thought of what lay beneath. He hadn’t bumped into any gravestones leading up to the calvary because the ground before it was a plague pit for all those who died in the last outbreak almost twenty years ago. Somewhere beneath, in a pile of rotting bones, lay the mother he could barely remember. With the night giving his eyes nothing to focus on, his imagination had free reign to summon pictures of the worms, dirt, and bones beneath his feet. Yuri shuddered, which he chalked up to the cold.

Whoever he’d heard laughing at him, it didn’t matter. Mr. Lagadeg was probably wondering what was taking him so long, and he was eager to get back to the warm kitchen fire.

* * *

The next morning, Yuri delivered a ham, cheese, and egg galette to Flynn’s house. Once again, he didn’t actually see Flynn himself, but this time he spoke with Flynn’s valet - a man called Leblanc with an illustrious moustache - who seemed to get on with him much better than the housekeeper, who turned out to be called Sodia. It wasn’t until he was preparing lunch a few hours later that things became complicated.

The problem was with Flynn. Last night, he’d been displeased to discover that Flynn had barely touched the mussels. Considering the dish had largely been mussels with a few vegetables sides, it was like skipping the meal entirely. Did Flynn not like mussels? What kind of Breton man didn’t like mussels? For lunch, Yuri laid out some cheese, half a baguette, and a passive aggressive note.

The note was the most difficult part. He’d stared at his wax tablet with the stylus pressed to his lips for almost five minutes before Mari entered the kitchen looking for a spoon.

“Hey, Mari, how do you spell ‘no mussels for you, child’?”

Yuri had never had any reason to learn to read or write. The only people he knew who could were Estelle, Rita, Raven, and presumably Flynn. Mari’s family was a rung or two higher than him on the social ladder, though, so he hoped she might know a couple of things about spelling at least.

She paused in the doorway. “Uh… I’m not sure. Why?”

“I’m trying to write a message to Flynn.”

Mari approached him and leaned over the counter, though a step back due to her protruding belly. Yuri wasn’t sure exactly when the baby was due, just like he wasn’t sure exactly who the father was, but he suspected it could be any day now. “I think ‘child’ might be… um… give me that, please.” She took the stylus from him and carefully carved the word into wax. Yuri had only ever written on wax, which could be heated, smoothed over, and re-used. Writing on paper with ink seemed very stressful to him, because if you made a mistake - as he inevitably would - you had just wasted an expensive sheet of paper.

“I’m not positive, though,” she said.

“Thanks, that’s better than I could do.” Yuri took the stylus back from her. The limit of his literacy was being fairly sure his name began with a Y. For the rest, he decided to get the point across with a rough drawing of a mussel and putting an X over it. The tablet was added to the platter with lunch, which he took to Flynn’s house.

When he returned to the street after dropping off lunch, a clump of snow smacked his shoulder. Yuri scooped a handful of snow off Flynn’s garden wall as he turned around, so he was already prepared to fling a returning snowball at Karol the moment he spotted him. The snow hit Karol straight in the face, causing him to sputter and slap at his cheeks.

“Ack!”

“Bullseye!” Yuri punched the air as Repede barked and ran up to him. “Need something, Karol?”

Karol wiped the last of the snow away with a fuzzy woollen mitten. “I need more snow,” he muttered and followed Repede toward Yuri. “Anyway, Mr. Lagadeg said you came up here to deliver dinner.”

Yuri shook his head with a frown. “Damn, he ratted me out. Can’t trust anyone these days. What am I wanted for this time?”

Karol pouted. “You shouldn’t joke, Yuri. You don’t want to get in trouble with Magistrate Ragou again….”

Yuri flippantly waved a hand. “I’ll burn that bridge when I get to it.” It was true that he already had a strike against him and nominally that meant if he got in trouble again, the punishment would be quite severe, but Ragou himself was the only person in Zaphias who considered Yuri a hardened criminal for his crime of breaking into Ragou’s stables and giving food to the starving and neglected horses. Rumour had it that even Alexei had told off Ragou for neglecting the poor beasts after Yuri’s court case brought it to public attention. Ragou may have hoped a day locked in the pillory would be a painful and humiliating lesson for Yuri, but the worst he got out of it was a sunburn and a wicked hangover from the drinks that had been bought for him that evening.

“What I actually wanted to tell you, Yuri, is that Nan found something cool on her way home and she gave it to me and I wanted to show you.”

“Oh, yeah?” Yuri leaned against the garden wall. “What sort of ‘something’ are we talking about?”

“It’s a surprise! C’mon, it’s at my house.”

Yuri laughed and rubbed Repede’s head. “It had better not be just an old belt buckle or something, but I have nothing to do until His Excellency -” Yuri jerked a thumb at Flynn’s house, “- finishes lunch, so I don’t mind checking it out.”

Repede led the way to Karol’s house. As they made their way through the narrow streets, Yuri remembered his adventure in the graveyard the night before and related the story to Karol. By the time he finished, Karol’s eyes had bugged out and he seemed read to turn around and run home.

“W-what? You met a ghost last night, Yuri!”

“I don’t know about that.” A stray cat lurking in a filth-ridden alley between houses watched them pass. “I might have just been hearing things, or it could have been a girl I didn’t see because it was dark.”

“But why would there be a girl hanging out in the graveyard after dark? That’s even creepier! And how did she see you trip if you couldn’t see her anywhere around?”

“Maybe she has really good eyesight.”

“Yeah… or maybe you’re being haunted.” Karol shuddered. “Don’t go back to the graveyard, Yuri. You’re lucky the ghost didn’t follow you home or anything.”

Yuri chuckled at Karol’s paranoia and agreed just to pacify him. He should have known Karol would take the story seriously. Yuri tried to ignore how unsettled he’d felt last night and chided himself for getting so worked up from the dark and some girl pranking him. He stepped around a puddle of melted snow ringed by mud now that they were off the paved major streets and reached for the door to Karol’s house.

Karol’s parents weren’t home at the moment, but the kitchen hearth still burned low. Dried herbs hung from string by the hearth and the simple wooden table held plain ceramic dishes only slightly chipped. As always, the wooden floors were spotless. Karol’s mother was the sort who looked at their sparse belongings and figured they may not have much but, gosh darn it, they could keep what they had immaculate. It was because of this that Yuri was surprised to see a dirty, rusted piece of metal sitting on the table.

“Is this is?” he asked when he reached the table. Repede had curled up in front of the hearth to watch the conversation while warming up.

“Yeah!” Karol picked up the hilt of what, upon closer inspection, turned out to be an old sword. Any part of it that had once been shiny grey steel was now a deep, dull brown - both from rust and caked-on mud. “Clint shot a rabbit while they were passing above the ravine, and it fell down the side. He sent Nan to climb down to get it, and halfway down she found this half-buried in the snow. She said I could keep it because she didn’t have any use for a sword this ruined.”

Yuri held out his hand and Karol passed the sword over. His cold fingers closed around a basket hilt rough with rust and dirt. Stepping away from Karol, he gave it an experimental swing. He’d never seen a sword this neglected before, and his own sword had probably already been an antique when Hanks carried it off to war almost fifty years ago. This one had better balance than the one Hanks had passed on to him, but even with Yuri’s experience in cleaning and maintaining swords far beyond their shelf-life, he wouldn’t be able to make this one functional again. He ran a hand along its thin, curved blade and the worst wound it was able to inflict was a mild tickling on his palm.

“If you were hoping I could fix this up for you, I’m going to have to burst your bubble.”

“It’s ok; I figured it was a lost cause. I just thought it was pretty cool to find an old sword. How long do you think it’s been in the ravine?”

Yuri turned it over in his hands a few times. “Huh… hard to say. I’m no expert on rust, so… a while?”

Karol rolled his eyes. “Thanks, Yuri, that’s real helpful.”

“Hey, I told you I’m not an expert. At least ten years, could be more. I can say, though, that the sword itself is younger than mine. They didn’t start making this style until near the end of last century.” He handed it back to Karol. “Sorry I can’t tell you anymore. A proper blacksmith might be able to help.”

“That’s ok. I still think it’s cool.” He swung it around a few times, making Yuri back away with his hands raised.

“Whoa, easy with that thing. If you want to swing a sword around, I’ll give you lessons with mine, ok?”

“Whoops, sorry.” Karol put it back on the table. “How do you think it got there, anyway?”

Yuri shrugged. “Someone probably dropped it. The real question is why nobody went back to pick it up. Swords aren’t cheap, after all.” If they were cheap enough that the average person wouldn’t stop to reclaim one, even if it was partway down a slope, Yuri would own one younger than himself.

“Or maybe it was someone really rich; I bet someone like Alexei wouldn’t bother climbing down for it!”

“Yeah, but someone that rich would have a fancier sword, I’d think.” Yuri traced a finger over the browned hilt. “There’s nothing ornate to this at all. Looks mass-produced.”

“Huh, true…. Could be they didn’t notice they dropped it until way farther ahead, and didn’t know where to go back to look.”

“That’s the best bet.” Yuri glanced out the window at the shadows stretching onto the road. “I should probably be heading back to Ar Kometenn before Mr. Lagadeg wonders what’s taking so long."

* * *

 Yuri picked up the remnants of Flynn’s lunch an hour later and carried the dishes back to the tavern. Either Leblanc or Sodia had already gathered the dishes up in the dining room, so it wasn’t until he reached the kitchen and removed the cloche from the platter that he saw his wax tablet placed in the centre of the empty plate. The writing he and Mari had worked on had been warmed and smoothed over, and a new message left for him. Yuri picked it up and brought it closer to his face to make out the wax etching in the sunlight by the window.

_“Bugel” skrivjout c’hwi fall._

Yuri stared at the words for a few seconds and then frowned. Considering he’d sent Flynn a passive-aggressive message, he could only assume this was a passive-aggressive response and it killed him that he couldn’t read it. He glanced around the room, debated for a moment, and then set the tablet aside to wash the dishes. When that was done, he picked it up again and left the tavern.

Estelle lived on the edge of town in a little sandstone house squished against the town wall. She didn’t live far from the north gate, which led to the dock and the barnacle-encrusted staircase that led to the beach. Sitting on the cobblestones in front of Estelle’s house were a few worn shipping barrels filled with soil, in which she grew medicinal herbs when the weather warmed up. Yuri watched a pair of seagulls battling for a perch on the wall as he waited for her to answer his knock.

“Yuri! Hello!” Estelle beamed at him when the door swung open. “Come inside before the cold gets in.”

Yuri shut the heavy wooden door behind him as he entered and stomped snow off his boots. A fire crackled in the corner of her one-room house, and the table in the middle was taken up by piles of old fabric that she was in the process of cutting into bandages. There were a couple of doctors living in the heart of Zaphias who had prestigious training from the university in Nantes, but nobody of Yuri’s class could afford their services. Instead, they went to Estelle. She’d learned to read from her father before he died, and voraciously devoured books to supplement the training she learned from her late mother, who’d been one of the most well-regarded midwives in her own time.

“Am I interrupting something?”

“No, not at all!” She tugged his wrist closer to the fire. “I was just preparing bandages for the future. Don’t you have work to do today? Do you need anything?” She gasped and covered her mouth. “No one’s hurt, are they? How’s Mari and the baby?”

Yuri laughed and patted her shoulder. “Relax, it isn’t your medical know-how I came looking for. I just wanted you to read this for me.” He handed her the wax tablet.

“Huh?” She tilted her head in curiosity as she looked down at the tablet. “This says ‘you spelled “child” wrong’. Where did you get it? Why are you laughing?”

Yuri shook his head with a smile. “It’s from Flynn. Can you write a response for me?”

* * *

 Flynn heard Yuri setting up dinner in the dining room as the church bells finished tolling eight o’clock. Yuri had just finished setting up when Flynn entered the dining. Candlelight gleamed on polished silverware. Flynn eyed the wax tablet sitting next to a bowl of monkfish in a red sauce. Good; at least Yuri hadn’t tried to bring him mussels again. For all his years growing up in Brittany, he still couldn’t bring himself to stomach them. Curiosity begged him to look at the tablet right away, but he’d wait for Yuri to leave.

“Oh, dear,” Yuri said when he spotted him. “I beg your pardon, your honour, I was just leaving.”

Flynn hadn’t only known Yuri for a few days, but already he noticed the teasing smirk at the corners of his lips. “It’s fine. I’m not allergic to being in the same room as serving staff.”

“Ha. Yeah, I didn’t think you were the type.”

“I wasn’t always wealthy, actually. When I was a kid we lived in a tiny wooden house in a maze of alleys. My mother did laundry for those who had just enough money to afford to hire someone to do it for them.”

Yuri raised his eyebrows and then turned his eyes on the floor-to-ceiling wood panelling, the six candles hanging from a bronze fixture in the ceiling, and the fire crackling in the hearth to keep out the chill that got in through the enormous leadlight window. “You’ve certainly upgraded.”

Flynn ran a hand over the smooth surface of the oak table. Below the lip were intricately carved leaves and flowers. No formal dining set had ever felt as homey as the splintery and mismatched furniture in his childhood home, where the room smelt perpetually of smoke and it was always dim because the glass-less windows were tiny and they couldn’t afford many candles. “Yes. It’s very comfortable.”

He’d clearly spent too long thinking about the past, because Yuri looked a little awkward as he said, “Yeah, well… _bon appetit_.”

Flynn smiled. _“Merci beaucoup. Ça a l'air délicieux_!”

Yuri stared at him for a second and then shrugged. “Heh, good try, but I don’t actually speak French.”

“Sorry. I just said it looks delicious. Smells good, too.”

“Enjoy!”

Yuri left and Flynn sat down at the table. The window reflected his image easily against the pure darkness outside: a young man sitting all alone at a dining table suitable for six. His mother used to warn him that if he didn’t stop focusing too much on his career, he was going to die alone. 

Flynn picked up Yuri’s wax tablet and flipped open the two wooden sides. It was like a little book, but instead of paper, it just had two slabs of wax pressed into the wooden blocks, which were tied together with some thick string. As expected, he found a message waiting for him: I may not know how to spell, but at least I eat what’s given to me. Flynn smiled at the message and then picked up his fork. Maybe it was hypocritical of him to be so opposed to mussels when he happily ate monkfish, which were possibly the most hideous thing to come from sea. Despite it’s lowly origins, though, it managed to be quite tasty. You never could judge based on origin.

When he had finished eating, he carried the tablet to the fireplace and held it in the warmth just out of reach of the flames for a few seconds to make the wax soften. He used the broad, flattened end of his own stylus to smooth it over, and then set it on the table by the window to let the wax harden again. When it was ready, he sat back at the dining table to write a message of his own: _I’ll gladly eat anything you bring me, save for mussels and squid. They taste as good as monkfish look_.


	3. Epiphany

Yuri made the walk to Estelle’s house more often over the next week than he had in ages. Every time he got a note from Flynn, he bundled up against the cold and trekked across town to have her read it to him and then write a new reply. It was the most drawn-out conversation Yuri had ever had, with messages exchanged only three times a day. Three times a day was lucky, in fact, because on Monday, Flynn cancelled lunch due to going out of town. He had business in Sant-Brieg. He seemed to have a lot of business to do, because Yuri hadn’t seen Flynn in person since Monday night. Though there was no way to preserve the messages after smoothing the wax to reply, Yuri recalled the entire chain easily.

_What kind of Breton man doesn’t like mussels?_

_This one. Also, please dry your shoes more carefully before you enter the dining room next time._

_I’m sorry; I wasn’t aware your house had magical wooden floors that water can’t evaporate from._

_It’s the principle of the thing. If you won’t respect my house, I’ll ask Mr. Lagadeg to send a different courier._

_The only other person who works there is his heavily pregnant daughter. You’d make a pregnant woman trek through the snow carrying heavy plates just to spare your floors some water? I thought you were better than that._

_Fine. I will have to put up with you until the child is born. Tell Mr. Lagadeg your days are numbered._

_Tell him to fire me? Yeah, right. You’ll have to tell him yourself._

_I don’t think I’ll have time to stop by Ar Kometenn for a while._

_You’ll see him at the Epiphany festival on Wednesday night, won’t you? Damn, I shouldn’t be helping you get me fired._

_True. But I wasn’t sure if I should attend. I’m not exactly part of the community here yet._

_You knucklehead; joining the festival is how you become part of the community. I’d better see you there tonight!_

_If you insist. Also, Sodia tells me you spent ten minutes drying your boots by the fire this morning before entering the dining room and she was quite vexed with your delay._

“Dry your feet, Yuri”, “Don’t dry your feet so long, Yuri.” Make up your mind!

Dry your feet for an appropriate amount of time! And don’t bring me supper tonight; I’ll eat at the festival.

As the sun faded, Yuri made his way to the outdoor market hall, preparing to ask Flynn what an “appropriate amount of time” for drying one’s boots was (so that he could not do it, naturally). The market hall stood in the middle of the broadest street across from the church. One step up from the street and lined in wooden pillars and a shingled roof, it made for a wonderful outdoor market in the summer. It didn’t get used nearly as much in the winter, but with dozens of candles set up among the rafters and crowds of tipsy festival-goers crowded below the roof, the cold kept its distance. The wealthier citizens of Zaphias held private parties in their own homes, but those of Yuri’s class could hardly afford to host a party unless it was a group effort. In the middle of the crowd, dancers stomped and clapped in circles to the rhythm of a bagpipe. Yuri pushed his way past red-cheeked festival-goers already well into the cider. Nominally, they were supposed to be commemorating the day the three wise men visited Jesus, but they’d sat through religious aspect at a mid-week mass this morning and now it was nothing but the twelfth and final night of Christmas and an excuse to get drunk and eat cake.

“Yuri!”

He turned to see a grinning, ruddy-faced man pushing his way through the crowd. “Yo. Looks like you’ve been enjoying yourself.”

Raven laughed as he reached Yuri and handed him a glass of cider of his own. “You’re late. The party started without ya!”

Yuri shrugged and took a sip. “I had some clean-up to finish at the tavern.”

Raven slung an arm around Yuri’s shoulders and dragged him further into the crowd. “So, how have ya been?”

“Good enough.” Yuri shrugged Raven’s arm off him. He’d always enjoyed Raven’s company when the old soldier sat around at the tavern telling stories of his time in the army. Raven worked for Alexei and spent most of his time at the chateau, but he spent his off hours in town.

“Karol told me about the sword Nan found. Wanted me to take a look at it.”

“Oh, yeah?” They found a spot by one of the wooden pillars placed every ten feet along the hall with enough space to stand without being jostled by revellers. “Were you able to make anything of it?”

“If ya ask me, it’s an old infantry sword. It’s the type that used ta be handed out ta soldiers along with the rest of the standard uniform and musket. The style’s not the same as when I was in the army, though - bit older, I think.”

Yuri whistled. “Man, it must be ancient.”

Raven winced and threw his head back. “Ouch, this old man isn’t that old!”

“Could have fooled me.”

Raven gulped down more cider and tapped his foot to the music. Yuri did not, because he’d always thought bagpipes sounded like a choir of lambs begging for death.

“Hey, you’ve been the one takin’ food over ta that new guy’s place, right?”

“Yeah, what of it?”

“What do ya know about him?”

Yuri shrugged and sipped on his cider to put off answering right away. “Not much, really. He grew up poor, was in the military for a bit, inherited his business from a dead guy, and hates mussels.”

“Huh. That’s pretty vague.”

“No, he was very specific about the mussels.”

Raven rolled his eyes. “Vague about the business. What does he even sell?”

Yuri shrugged once more. “Dunno, haven't’ asked. Why do you care so much?”

“Alexei asked me to look inta him.”

Yuri recalled the discussion he’d overheard between Alexei and Ragou and frowned. “Why’s Alexei so interested in him?”

“He didn’t say. In fact, he wants me ta head over ta Kemper and do some snoopin’ about his past.”

Yuri gazed over the crowd, toward the church, and the street leading to Flynn’s house. From what he could tell, Flynn seemed like a pretty unremarkable man (save for a few remarks Yuri had internally made on subjects such as Flynn’s hair, jawline, and ass, all of which he’d quickly brushed aside) who lived a pretty unremarkable life. Well, there was the fact that he warmly greeted everyone he met and made no effort to argue when shopkeepers clearly overcharged him. Come to think of it, being both a decent person and a reasonably rich man might be rare enough combination to warrant suspicions from Alexei. But then… he thought back to Flynn’s odd behaviour around the coach the day he arrived. He’d gotten the impression Flynn had something to hide, and Alexei seemed to think so, too.

“If you do find anything in Kemper,” Yuri said, “let me know. I’m curious, too.”

“Sure, I’ll keep ya in the loop.”

“Yuri!” Estelle waved to him and sidled through the crowd until she reached them, beaming and pink-cheeked. Knowing Estelle, that was more likely from the cold than alcohol, though. She had a knitted scarf around her neck and a traditional lacy white hat on her head. “I was afraid you weren’t coming.”

“Yeah, actually I totally forgot about it, but then I had an epiphany.”

Estelle pursed her lips. “Yuri, that’s terrible.”

He gave her a cheesy grin and then asked, “Have you seen Flynn?”

“Yes, I have!” Her displeasure with his pun vanished in an instant. “He’s dancing with Karol’s mom. Come on, dance with me.” She grabbed his wrist and tugged.

“I don’t dance,” he said quickly.

Estelle pouted. “That’s what Rita said too, and she said I should find you and make you dance.”

“Then go tell Rita that I say she’s the one who has to dance with you.”

Raven puffed up his chest and cleared his throat. “Don’t worry, fair maiden, I will dance with you.”

Estelle knitted her eyebrows. “Um.”

Yuri shoved his almost-empty glass at Raven. “I’d be happy to, Estelle.”

Yuri pulled her through the crowd until they could slip into a ring between one of Ted’s older sisters and the man who ran the butcher shop. It wasn’t actually that he didn’t dance at all, he just preferred to be far less sober when he started holding hands, skipping, and stomping around in a circle. While he didn’t like the dancing so much, he did enjoy the community. Zaphias was a large town, but the streets around Ar Kometenn were home and the people who lived there his family. He laughed with Ted’s sister and smiled across the circle at the barrel-maker’s wife. Though tonight’s festival was supposed to be celebrating Jesus, he didn’t even feel guilty that all his thoughts of what he was thankful for in the world were firmly grounded away from heaven.

He spotted Flynn in another circle, laughing as Karol slipped and nearly dragged him down with him. Yuri nudged Estelle and pointed, and as their circle spun and he he moved around nearer to Flynn, he let go of Ted’s sister’s hand and inserted himself in the new circle. Estelle grabbed Karol’s other hand while Yuri grabbed Flynn’s. Flynn’s head bobbed to the shrill wailing of bagpipes as if he didn’t think it sounded atrocious, and he deftly followed the steps along with the rest of the locals. Of course, these dances were passed down through the generations and Yuri supposed the dancing in Kemper must be nearly identical.

“I told you you’d like it!” Yuri shouted at Flynn over the buzz of a thousand angry hornets that passed for music.

“You were right. I’m glad I came!”

“Sorry to say, the music is always this terrible.”

“What do you mean? I enjoy it!”

Yuri made an expression of mock disgust. “You keep proving more and more that your taste is terrible!”

Flynn laughed, pulled away from Yuri, and grabbed Estelle’s hand. He pulled her into the middle of the circle where three other couples including Karol’s parents had broken off to take part in a more complex dance involving twirling around, switching partners, and far more bouncing up and down than Yuri cared to mimic in his sober state.

The dancing wore on for hours. Once Flynn and Estelle left, Yuri managed to break away from the rings to seek out the alcohol he needed to properly enjoy the night. Eventually, even the wailing bagpipe became something close to tolerable. Yuri stood to the side, clutching his sides with laughter from one of Raven’s jokes (all the evidence needed that he wasn’t entirely sober) and watched some of the others carry out an disc of pastry several feet across to the table in the centre of the hall. It was the traditional cake of kings, and the highlight of any Epiphany party. This one had the pattern of a star etched on the top layer of golden-brown pastry. Hanks came out with a battered old crown made of tin and set it on the middle of the table. Every year, bakeries took turn creating the cake for the feast.

The bagpipe fizzled out (thank God) so Hanks could shout over the din that it was time for everyone to take their slice. When they had a cake of kings at home, in small familial gatherings, the youngest child present crawled under the table to shout out who got which slice to keep things fair. Tonight’s festival had far too many people for any of the children, already tipsy from drinking cider all night, to know everybody’s names, so they kept things simple and grabbed slices at random. Yuri hung back, just in case there wasn’t enough for everybody, until there were only a few slices left and he was satisfied everyone else had been served. He spotted Flynn lurking near a dying candle, hands free of pastry, and grabbed his arm.

“Come on, you get one, too.”

“Are you sure? I mean, I only just moved here. I would feel guilty taking something.”

“If you don’t, people will think you’re a snob who thinks he’s too good to eat their cake.”

“I don’t think I’m too good for that!”

“I know, so take a slice.” He dragged Flynn over to the table and the pair of them took the last two slices available.

The cake was really more like a flaky pastry with a rich almond flavour. All around, the roar of the festival had grown to a soft murmur as the attendees carefully ate their cake, chewing slowly and cautiously until -

“Ow!” Flynn winced and then spat a bean into his palm. He and everyone within view stared at it for a few seconds, and then the came a roar of excitement. Those who had already finished their slices grabbed Flynn by the shoulders and dragged him to the table, while everyone else began eating much faster and more casually now that the bean had been found and no one was at risk of breaking their tooth on it.

One of the man who had grabbed Flynn placed the tin crown on his head, and then he and another grabbed Flynn by the thighs and lifted him above the crowd.

“Hail the king!”

The crowd applauded and roared with a mixture of cheers and laughter. The men supported Flynn on their shoulders and they carried him, teetering, through the crowd. Yuri thought that this might be a safer endeavour if everyone involved was not already at least a little drunk.

Someone from the crowd called, “What do you command, Your Majesty!?”

Flynn thought for a moment, wavered to keep his balance on the also-wavering shoulders holding him, and then shouted, “Mr. Raven! Please go to Mr. Gallou’s place and tell him you want…” Flynn paused to quickly survey the size of the crowd, “a dozen bottles of wine. And to send the bill to me!”

This proclamation was met with even more cheering. Flynn had been worried about being accepted into the community, but after tonight, there was little doubt he’d be taken in as one of their own. Raven gladly fulfilled the newly-crowned king’s request and set off with a few friends to help carry the bottles back. They returned with wine, which disappeared quickly into the crowd followed by more cider, more bagpipes, and more dancing, although by this point not many people were able to keep up the traditional steps. The tin crown glinted in the candlelight on Flynn’s head, where it remained for the rest of the evening. The next morning, Yuri would recall laughter and revelry in blurry snatches, but wine and cider washed away the details.

* * *

Flynn woke up slowly. Drummers from last night had migrated inside his skull and were trying to beat a rhythm directly on his brain. His tongue was plastered to the roof of his mouth and nausea curdled in his stomach.

“Good morning, boss.”

The sudden voice made him flinch but the knowledge that he was not alone in his misery compelled him to open his eyes. He needed to at least try to be presentable. A young woman stood over him, looking down with an amused smile.

“Looks like you had fun last night.”

Flynn dragged an arm up to rub his eyes and the forced his mouth open. He croaked, “Judith… what are you… doing here?”

“I came to report, but it looks like I should come back later, shall I?”

Flynn’s eyes adjusted to the glaring light that turned out to be just sunlight through a gap in the curtains. He saw wooden ceiling beams and felt a soft straw mattress beneath him and surmised that had, at the very least, made it back to his own bedroom last night. Slowly, to avoid antagonizing his headache, he pushed himself upright. Damn, when was the last time he’d gotten so drunk? Must have been back in the army, and the seemed like a lifetime ago. He yawned, cringing at how rank his breath smelled. “S-sorry, I….” Flynn looked down at himself for a moment. “Why aren’t I wearing pants?”

Judith shrugged. “I was going to ask you that.”

Flynn grabbed a sheet to drag over his lower half and wished Judith could be more discrete about things. If he’d walked in on her sans-bottoms, he certainly wouldn’t have stood around watching her wake up! “I - I apologize - I just….” He had to stop and yawn again and then rubbed his temples.

“Don’t worry about it.”

“Were you at the festival last night?” He rubbed his eyes with his palms as he spoke. The most common of Mistresses Manners would be scandalized at holding a casual conversation between an unwed man and woman in the man’s bedchamber, but considering he was already pants-less and hungover in front of a woman, he figured meeting acceptable decorum was a standard long since thrown out the window.

“Yes, I lurked around the edge for a little bit, but then I had work to do.”

Flynn frowned as he tried to sort out solid memories from last night. “Ah… yes, I remember, an appointment….”

Judith snickered a little. “It’s ok, I know you forgot. I took care of it just fine.”

Flynn sighed and slumped his shoulders. “Thank you.”

“Any time. Also, there’s a grumpy hungover man in your dining room, just so you know.”

“Oh, no.” Flynn squeezed his eyes shut for a moment. “I need to go tell him not to bother.” Just the thought of putting food in his stomach made it want to empty itself preemptively.

He started to crawl out of bed, but Judith grabbed his arm and stopped him. “I’d put on pants, first. You might make a better impression.”

It took Flynn ten minutes to get ready. He discovered he was still wearing his shirt from last night, and assumed he’d started getting undressed before bed but then passed out before finishing. Luckily, the fire in his room had been lit so he wasn’t freezing. Unluckily, this meant Sodia must have come to his room this morning to light it and seen his ungentlemanly display. If all went according to his hopes, neither of them would ever mention this again.

He trudged downstairs and entered the dining room to find Yuri sitting at the table with his head hidden in his arms. A breakfast of eggs and sausage sat beside him, but the scent of it made Flynn want to throw up. “Good morning,” Flynn mumbled.

Yuri jerked up from the table. “Sorry. I just sat down for a sec.”

“It’s fine.” Flynn slumped into a chair across from him. “You look as bad as I feel.”

Yuri leaned back in the chair with his arms folded. His hair was a tousled mess and clearly put a lot of effort into keeping his eyes open. “S’your fault, y’know. Had to go buy that wine.”

Flynn pressed a hand over his eyes for a moment. “Why… why did I do that?” He didn’t remember the decision-making aspect of last night very well, and for all he knew, it had been absent.

“You definitely got everyone to like you, Your Majesty.”

“Huh?”

Yuri tapped the side of his head. “Gonna wear that forever, now?”

Flynn reached up and realized the tin crown still sat on his head. “Oh.” It clunked on the table. “I need to return this. Who does it belong to?”

“The priest stores most communal stuff at the church through the year. He’ll take it off your hands. Unless you want to keep it and remain king for good.”

Flynn shook his head (slowly, because shaking it quickly made the world spin) and said, “I think we have enough kings. I’m not going to eat that, by the way.”

Yuri glanced at the eggs. “What, are you crossing eggs off the list along with mussels?”

Flynn stared at the food. Morning sunlight glistened on the yolk. His stomach turned. “No, I just think eating anything right now will make me vomit. You can have it.”

Yuri considered for a moment. “I would rather not.”

“Heh. Figured. I’ll put it in the oven at lunch and save you a midday trip. Ugh….” He blinked a few times and licked his cracked lips with a sandpapery tongue. “I need to go get Leblanc… ask him to bring me a bucket of water from the pump.” And then chug the entire bucket down in one long gulp. “Are you thirsty?”

“Parched. Used the only water we had left to cook this morning and didn’t think I had the energy to go to the fountain and get more.”

“Two buckets then.”

It took almost an hour before Flynn was ready to leave the house. After spending the evening drinking together, he and Yuri spent the morning doing a far less fun form of drinking where they sipped water in a dimly lit room and hoped their hangovers subsided soon. He’d prefer to spend the entire day like this, especially because he was starting to really enjoy Yuri’s company, but he had to return the crown, meet with Judith, and then head over to Mr. Gallou’s to pay for a dozen mistakes. He bade Yuri farewell and set off, hating the way the sun glared off the snow.

Flynn was glad he didn’t live far from the church and could see its entrance from the street in front of his house. Along the way, he passed a smiling woman he vaguely recalled from last night, who waved at him and addressed him as ‘Your Majesty’ with a wink when she wished him a good morning. At the church, he paused to take in the market hall across the square. Burnt out candles still lined the rafters, empty bottles and glasses littered the floor, and the only reason crumbs weren’t all over the table was that the local rats had feasted overnight. What an excessive night it had been. The money they had communally spent on drink, candles, and cake last night could have fed a family for a week. But then, he thought of all the happy faces and uproarious laughter and figured it hadn’t been a complete waste.

The church was empty when he stepped inside. His boots, wet from the snow, squeaked loudly on the slick stone floors. The sound echoed around the cavernous interior. “Hello?” His exhausted croak couldn’t come close to filling the huge space. Flynn yawned and leaned against a stone column along the edge of the pews. He pressed his head against the stone and let his eyes fall on the stained glass window in front of him, which reflected the way he felt rather well. The lower third was broken into four squares, each depicting a skeleton pestering, respectively, a pope, a king, a labourer, and a child. The skeleton played music in their faces or hung to their arms, and Flynn with every throb of his hangover he definitely felt that a spectre of death was blasting a trumpet in his face.

He shouldn’t laugh, of course. It was a depiction of the _danse macabre_ , in which Death courted and pestered every person, from emperor to beggar, reminding them of his presence and inevitability. To make the window even more optimistic, the upper two-thirds showed a large depiction of a skeleton with a scythe and words that, when translated from Latin, said _I kill you all_. Here in Brittany, they called Death the Ankou - a holdover from their Celtic past. Traditional stories claimed that the last person to die in a year became the Ankou for the next year, but Flynn had never been able to figure out why the Ankou was always depicted as a tall and gangling man if the last one to die could just as easily be a child or a woman.

“Good morning.”

The sudden deep voice startled Flynn. He turned to see that the priest had approached him, and apparently had soft shoes that didn’t squeak as much. The man had long white hair that stood in sharp contrast with his black robe. Flynn straightened up from the pillar and cleared his throat.

“Forgive me, Father. I wasn’t paying attention.”

“It is no matter. You are the new resident, are you not?”

“That’s correct. My name is Flynn Scifo; I’ve just moved here from Kemper.”

“Yes, I have heard. You can call me Duke.”

Flynn held out the crown. “I just came to return this. I didn’t mean to go home with it last night.”

Duke took it from him and turned it over in his hands briefly. “It’s quite alright. This crown has seen a good deal of abuse over the years - a consequence of frequently awarding it to drunk people.”

Flynn blushed and looked away. He didn’t consider himself a very religious man, but having a priest call him out on his behaviour last night was still plenty shameful. “I’m, uh, sorry about last night.”

“It happens every year, and will happen again on many of the other feast days. It is good that you have so quickly found your place in this community.”

“Yes… I suppose.” Flynn swore that no matter how much alcohol was passed around on future feast days, he’d never let himself reach this level of hangover again. “Were you at the festival last night?”

“I was not. I choose not to participate in such boisterous events.”

“Ah, right, of course….”

“Perhaps if more people attended mass and donated their money to the church rather than cider and cake, the world would be a more peaceful place.”

“Yes… perhaps.” Flynn shuffled his feet and cast his eyes around the church before staring once more at the grinning Ankou threatening death. He recalled his childhood, before the army and before he met Niren and his life took off in a different direction. There had been many days when food was uncertain and the threat of disease epidemics hung over the populace like a dark cloud. He remembered standing at the back of the church and clutching his mother’s hand as the priest spoke of the inevitability of death and the importance of preparing the soul for heaven. “But I think it’s good for people to put aside thoughts of death sometimes, at least for one night. People who live in the margins of society don’t need to be reminded that death is coming for them, but they do need a night to remember that it hasn’t come yet.”

“An interesting perspective. Not one, I believe, that would be backed by the Catholic church, but interesting all the same.”

Flynn bit his lip and folded his arms. He really had no place to argue with a priest about how people should think about the status of their souls. “I’m sorry, Father. I’ll be on my way now.”

* * *

 

The rest of January passed unremarkably. Yuri had spent his whole life going about his day to day life without much planned for the future, so the mundane tasks of working at the tavern were as mundane as they were expected. Even Flynn was starting blend seamlessly into his life, and the daily visits to Estelle to translate their messages became a familiar part of his routine.

One evening, just before January officially passed the torch to February, a blizzard raged. Ar Kometenn was almost completely empty, all patrons having left earlier in the evening as the storm got worse and they feared the difficulty of making it home after dark. Even the Lagadegs were absent, because they’d gone to a friend’s home to visit before the storm worsened. The walk to Hanks’ house wasn’t far, but doing it in whiteout conditions after dark sounded like a recipe for disaster so Yuri was planning to sleep on the kitchen floor by the hearth tonight. Of course, he also had to account for Estelle. She’d braved the beginnings of the blizzard to make it to a scheduled check-up on Mari, but afterwards, Yuri had put his foot down about letting her wander out into the blizzard by herself to make it home.

They passed the time playing cards by the dim light of a single candle. The windows rattled in their frames from the storm howling to get in, but the thing Yuri was most worried about bursting in was a Mrs. Lagadeg who had sensed that Yuri was teaching a young lady how to play poker and was prepared to rail against the impropriety until the storm calmed. Repede curled up near the fire, fast asleep.

“Is it good if I have all red one?” Estelle asked, her face scrunched up in deep concentration as she stared at her hand.

“Uh… that depends on if they’re all the same red. All hearts or all diamonds. A mix of both doesn’t mean anything.”

She deflated. “Oh….”

Yuri was about to tell remind her which numbers were good to have when Mari threw open the door to her family’s quarters at the back of the house and gasped, “E-Estelle! It’s coming!”

Estelle let her cards fall to the table as she jumped up. “Are you sure?”

“My water broke.”

“Oh, I’m so glad I didn’t go home! Yuri, help her get to a chair.”

“Uh, me?” Yuri’s knowledge of childbirth was that it started with sex, then a girl swelled up for nine months, then a group of women sequestered themselves away and forbade men from getting involved, and then - hopefully - a woman and a baby came out again. He was only ninety-five percent sure that a vagina was involved in the finale as much as it was in the beginning.

“Yes, Yuri!” Estelle was already rushing over to Mari’s side. “No one else is here. You have to help.”

As terrifying as the entire concept of childbirth was, Estelle was right. Yuri rushed to grab a chair and drag it near the fire and Estelle helped Mari lower herself onto it. Repede had jumped up and, not sure what was happening, decided to pace around Mari with his tail wagging. “What can I do?”

Estelle was already rustling through the satchel she’d brought for the earlier appointment. “Can you keep Repede in the kitchen?”

“He just wants to help.”

“I know, and he’s a good boy, but I don’t want a dog in the delivery room.”

Yuri rubbed Repede’s head. “Sorry, buddy, we gotta do as the doctor orders.”

“And then I want you to boil some water. I have some herbs that will help with pain. And wash your hands with soap.”

Yuri looked down at his spotless hands and turned them over to show her his palms. “It’s fine; they’re not dirty.”

“Just do it anyway. It helps.”

Yuri wasn’t sure what he was supposed to be washing off, but Estelle was the expert here. He did as he was told and locked Repede in the kitchen, and when he returned with the water, Estelle left Mari’s side to wash her own hands and returned with sheets and towels.

“Tell me what to do,” Yuri said as he stood awkwardly next to Mari. There were a couple physicians in town, and he was prepared to brave the blizzard to fetch one if the situation grew dire, but hopefully it wouldn’t be needed. There was an old saying that if a man had to be brought into the room for a birth, either the mom or the baby wasn’t going to make it out. Yuri just hoped his own presence didn’t jinx things.

“At the moment, I just need you to stay here. This will probably take a long time, so just be ready to help when I need it.”

“Got it.”

Yuri couldn’t believe how long birthing took. If he was cooped up in a tiny dark space for nine months, he would bolt out of there the second he could but apparently babies liked to drag their feet. Mari’s labour wore on through the night, getting worse and worse. She clutched Yuri’s arm during the worst of it, and he wondered if she was trying to redirect the pain into him based on the strength of her grip. When Estelle commanded, he brewed some foul smelling tea that Estelle promised would reduce the pain of labour.

It had been evening when Mari first burst into the room in panic, but dawn was surely not far off by the time she announced the baby was coming. Estelle directed Yuri to go grab a sheet and make sure it was clean. Yuri did as commanded, and then turned around to return to Mari. He stopped. Estelle had moved from her position between Mari’s legs to quickly wash her hands one more time, so when Yuri turned around, there was nothing blocking his view of Mari with her feet propped up on a stood and skirt pulled back to her waist.

From a young age, Yuri had suspected he was different. When the other boys he knew began blushing around girls, Yuri found himself unable to see the appeal. He was happy to be friends with girls, but throughout his teenage years he’d always found the idea of kissing them rather off-putting. He knew from everyone around him that his feelings were not natural and that all men were supposed to marry a girl and have kids and that was part of being a man. Yuri had resigned himself to the knowledge that the desire to do this with a woman would come to him someday, and maybe his thoughts about other men being much more appealing were just because the natural desire for woman hadn’t arrived yet.

As Yuri stood frozen with his eyes locked on the image of a baby’s head emerging from the gaping hole between Mari’s legs, everything glistening with fluids he cared not to identify, Yuri knew with utter certainty that he would never in his entire life want to touch a vagina.

“Yuri!” Estelle shouted. “I need you!”

He pushed aside his horror to run to them. Estelle had resumed her position between Mari’s legs and one hand delicately supporting the baby’s head as it slid out.

“Put that on the ground to catch the blood.”

“Is she supposed to be bleeding?” Yuri tried very hard to talk to Estelle without looking at what she was doing.

“Not this much.” She reached it with her other hand and Yuri caught a glimpse of her manipulating a fleshy tube that reminded him disturbingly of intestine that had wrapped around the baby’s neck. “As soon as the baby is out, I need you to hold it so I can stop the bleeding.”

“Right. Yeah. I can hold a baby.”

Mari, meanwhile, was clutching the arms of the chair with white knuckles and a pale, sweaty face. She panted and groaned in pain, and it killed Yuri that he couldn’t do anything to help her. She gave one last gasp followed by a wet sliding sound that would haunt Yuri’s nightmares, and the baby slid into Estelle’s hands.

“Yuri-”

“I got this.” He took the squirming and frighteningly slippery baby from Estelle as she turned immediately back to Mari.

Mari cracked her eyes open and looked to Yuri. “Is it… healthy?”

The purple lump in his arms gave a cry and Yuri nodded. “I think so.” He wondered if he should ask Estelle what the gunk covering the child was, but decided he didn’t want to know. “It’s a boy.”

Mari smiled but didn’t have the energy to say anything else.

Yuri would have handed the baby to his mother, but the umbilical cord was still attached so he couldn’t move far from Estelle. He directed his eyes to the ceiling and concentrated on not dropping the squirming infant, so he wasn’t exactly sure what Estelle was doing. “How’s it going?”

“She just needs to deliver the afterbirth.”

“The after-what?”

A few minutes later, Yuri learned what an afterbirth looked like and regretted this knowledge.

“Ok….” Estelle took a few deep breaths. Traces of blood and fluids covered her hands up to her wrists and her hair had“I think the bleeding has slowed. Yuri, hold him still, I need to tie off the umbilical cord.”

The sky had begun to turn the blue-grey of dawn by the time Mari had retreated to her own bed to fall asleep. Yuri and Estelle sat slumped at one of the tavern tables, utterly exhausted. Soon, Mari’s parents would arrive home and Yuri was sure to get an earful from her mother about how indecent it was to have a man involved in childbirth, but at the moment, he just wanted to sleep.

“You did a good job.” Estelle had her chin in her folded arms and didn’t sit up to speak.

“Eh, I just followed orders. You’re the one who made sure both Mari and the baby came out of this healthy.”

“I couldn’t have done it without you. We make a good team.”

Yuri returned her smile, but then said, “I never want to get this close to a woman in labour again.”


	4. Words and Letters

By the time Mari's son, now known as Padreg, was a week old, everyone in the neighbourhood knew that Yuri and Estelle alone had delivered him, and it seemed like everyone had something to say about it. The general consensus was that Yuri assisting with the birth had been highly inappropriate but, given the circumstances, could probably be forgiven. This didn't stop several older women from tutting disapprovingly when they passed him on the street, but Yuri had never put much stock in what old disapproving ladies thought of him.

In the early morning, he brought breakfast to Flynn's house as per usual. The plate carried his trusty wax tablet with a message - inscribed by Estelle - teasing Flynn about his last message yesterday evening. It had started simple enough, just explaining that he had been busy that afternoon sorting the library, and then meandered on into an explanation of how he didn't approve of the previous owner's organization and what steps he was taking to sort the books in a more efficient manner.

He knocked, and Sodia answered. His early efforts to be friendly with her had gone nowhere, so now he just resigned himself to a chilly greeting whenever he visited Flynn.

"Mr. Scifo will be taking his breakfast in the library this morning," she told him.

Yuri snorted. "Is he  _still_  fretting over those books?"

"Mr. Scifo values organization and order in his home," she said huffily. "Take the food through to the library, please."

Yuri waited until his back was to her to roll his eyes and took the food past the dining room. He had never been Flynn's library before, and had never actually seen so many books in one place. He gazed around at bookshelves taller than he was with a low whistle and set the platter of breakfast on the central table. It amazed him sometimes how people like Estelle or Flynn could find a use for so many books. He had never in his life needed to write something down to be preserved longer than a day, and it was hard to imagine that every book was uniquely valuable and interesting. What could they possibly contain?

One book sat on the table not far from from the cloche. It had a black leather cover with only a basic geometric pattern pressed into it rather than a cover. The two inches of pages were yellow and uneven, and a black ribbon attached to the binding served as a bookmark, marking a place about three-quarters through the book. Curious about the only book not neatly put away, Yuri reached to open it.

"Yuri!" Flynn entered the library at that moment and crossed to the table in a few quick strides. He snatched the book away from Yuri's touch and held it close to his chest.

"Geeze, sorry." Yuri held up his hands. "Not like I was going to break it."

"No, it's just… this one is private." Flynn hugged it tighter and glanced between it and Yuri, as if he feared the brief brush Yuri's fingers had of the cover had been enough to absorb its contents through his skin.

Yuri smiled a little. "Whoops, did I stumble upon your diary? 'Dear Diary, today was terrible. Sodia forgot to use starch when washing my drawers and they aren't nearly stiff enough. It will be difficult to maintain my usual uptight attitude without this measure.'" Yuri enjoyed watching Flynn's panic over Yuri going for the book turn to irritation. It served the double purpose of teasing Flynn and getting him to stop panicking over Yuri almost reading his very secret diary.

"Very funny, Yuri. Yes, it's a journal, but it's very personal so please don't touch it."

"Hey, you don't have to worry about me. I can't read." He held up his hands in a shrug. "So don't worry, I could stare at a page covered in your personal confessions of sexual ineptitude and not get anything out of it."

Flynn wrinkled his brow. "Pardon? Ignoring that inane last bit, what do you mean you can't read?"

"Sorry, what part don't you understand? I'd spell it out for you, but my inability to do that is the crux of the issue here."

"But you can read and write. We write to each other every day."

Yuri shifted his weight and looked around at the books. "Yeah… well, actually, I've been getting Estelle to read your messages to me and then write down my reply."

"Oh… I see. I should have wondered why you were literate, but I didn't question…. I'm sorry."

Yuri shrugged. "It's not your fault."

"No, and it's not yours either, though I was under the impression our conversations were private so I do feel a little…. Ah, it's nothing, it isn't like we've discussed anything very personal."

"Do you want to stop writing?" Yuri was surprised to realize how upset he would be if Flynn said yes.

Flynn rubbed his chin. "No… but I would like to be able to keep it between us. How about I teach you how to read?"

Yuri's knee-jerk reaction was to refuse. Nobody in his neighbourhood knew how to read; that was something rich people did. He'd never needed to read before, and being illiterate was good enough for everyone else he knew, so learning to read was like throwing his hat in with the detestable upper-classes (except for Flynn and Estelle, who were special cases). But then, the idea of being able to read Flynn's messages without bothering Estelle three times a day was appealing, and Flynn seemed reluctant to continue having a translator.

"I mean… if you have the time."

"Yes, I have time. Ah, but tomorrow I need to visit Erge-ar-Mor so I won't be here. And today I need to sort the library…." Flynn looked around the room for a moment.

"Don't worry about it. I need to get back to Ar Kometenn, so you deal with your books and you can start teaching me… day after tomorrow?"

Flynn beamed. "Yes, that should work."

* * *

Yuri stopped by Rita's apothecary before he went to Flynn's house. A strong odour made him wrinkle his nose and he pulled his shirt collar up to cover his face. "Rita! What are you doing?!"

A door behind the counter flew open and Rita came out, but unfortunately, so did more of the thick, greasy odour. "Oh, hey, Yuri. Need something?"

Yuri set a bound bundle of dried sage on her counter. "Estelle asked me to bring this to you. Are you cooking bacon for lunch? Just… horribly?"

"Nah." She shut the door to her workroom which thankfully cut down on the smell. "Cooking up some bear grease to sell to the self-conscious balding men in Saint-Malo this weekend."

"Where did you get a bear carcass?" Yuri had never seen an actual bear in his life and as far as he knew, they didn't even live in Brittany.

"It's not a bear. I'm rendering pig fat and adding some marrow from cow bones and a little perfume. No one will know the difference."

Yuri laughed. "I guess if someone is going to pay to rub animal fat all over their shiny dome, it doesn't make too much difference what animal it actually comes from."

"Yeah, well when you get old and all that hair falls off, I'll give you a discount on quality Mordio pig grease."

Yuri grimaced. "I'll pass. What are you doing in Saint-Malo?"

Rita picked up the sage Yuri had brought and inspected it. "The usual, just making some deliveries to physicians. The idiots would be lost without me. Can you believe they get paid more than I do when all they do is distribute the stuff I make?"

"I think they do a little more than hand out drugs like a shopkeeper." If he wasn't dead-set on disagreeing just to rile her up, he would have agreed with her. Yuri was certain Rita could do just as good a job as a physician if the need arose, and probably could have revolutionized the field if they let girls enter it. Between Rita's concoctions and Estelle's nursing and midwifery, Yuri wondered what the male medical personel in Zaphias even did.

"Not enough more to warrant the pay raise," she grumbled. "Anyway, thanks for this. I'll drop by Estelle's place later to thank her in person."

"Sure thing. Now I need to get going before poor Mr. Scifo starves from a late lunch."

Yuri showed up at Flynn's house half an hour later. Sodia once again directed him to the library and he found Flynn putting away books on a shelf above his head. Flynn turned when he heard the door and smiled in that way Flynn often did, where the winter temporarily drew back from the warmth radiating from his face.

"Yuri! Good afternoon. You're still available to stay for a few hours today, correct?"

"I sure am." He set down his food and removed the cloche. "So eat up and let's get started."

Flynn put away one last book and then met Yuri at the table. He dragged a chair around so there were two on the same side and motioned for Yuri to take a seat. Yuri did so and surveyed the materials in front of him. Flynn had set out his own wax tablet, which was larger than Yuri's and about as big as a full-size book. There was also a wooden board, about a foot long and half a foot wide, with a hand at one of the long ends so you could hold it like a paddle. A piece of paper had been glued to the face of the board and covered in a thin sheet of horn, tacked into place. The horn created a clear protective layer over the writing on the paper, but if Yuri could identify what the writing was, he wouldn't be here.

"That's called a hornbook," Flynn said after swallowing his first bite of lunch. Today Yuri had brought kig ha farz - a pile of boiled meats, buckwheat pudding, and carrots. It looked terrible on a plate but tasted delicious in a mouth.

"Yeah, I've seen rich kids carry them around. The horn is to keep toddlers from smearing gunk all over the paper right?"

"Uh… yes." Flynn frowned. "I apologize for giving you such a childish tool, it's just, I found that in the library from when the previous owner's daughter was a child and I don't have any other resources that clearly spell out the alphabet."

"It's fine. So… what do I do with it?"

Flynn put his fork down and leaned over. "The top half lists the alphabet in order. First you have the capital letters and then the lowercase letters. Then this section-" he slid his finger down the board "-lists a bunch of consonant-vowel combinations as examples. And then here at the bottom is the Lord's Prayer, for practice reading whole words and sentences."

"Ok… what are… consonant-vowel whatevers?"

"Um…." Flynn thought as he chewed. "Sorry, I learned to read a long time ago, let me remember how I was taught. So, the vowels are these ones." He tapped a few letters on the board. "You can make a vowel sound without your tongue. Like 'aaaa' or 'eeee' or 'oooo'. The consonants are all the others. For example, your name…." He picked up the stylus and began scratching in the wax. "It starts with a consonant, Y. Then 'Yuuuu', so there's a vowel next, a U. Y and U together are a consonant-vowel combination, 'yu'. Then there's another combination for your name, 'ri'. And that's with an R and and I."

Yuri leaned forward when Flynn pulled his hand away. There were four letters engraved in the wax and it gave Yuri a little thrill to know it was his own name. He'd never actually seen it written down before. People whose names were written down were important people who had lives worth recording, and it took seeing his own name in print to realize he'd spent twenty years considering himself unremarkable rabble. "Cool."

"My apologies, though, I'm getting ahead of myself You should start by memorizing the alphabet and what sound every letter makes. Some letters make multiple sounds, but… we'll get to that later. Start here." He pointed at the top line. "That's an A, and it makes the sound 'ah'."

Flynn went through the rest of the letters one by one. The fact that there were two versions for each letter was a pain, and then Flynn kept going on tangents about "well actually it sounds like this when it comes after these letters…" but Yuri was inspired by the childishness of the hornbook. It was clearly intended for very small children, and if they could learn these dumb letters, then so could he. They spent several hours going over all the letters, writing them in wax, and sounding things out. It must have been tedious for Flynn, but he showed no signs of boredom and happily corrected any of Yuri's mistakes. By the time they had to wrap up for the afternoon, Yuri was pleased to know he could read and write and his own name, and remembered what sounds most of the letters made.

"Thanks a lot, Flynn."

"It's my pleasure."

"I'm busy tomorrow, but… Friday?" Yuri spoke while gathering up dishes from lunch.

Flynn nodded. "Yes, that works well. I'm not available Saturday, though, because I'm going to Saint-Malo."

"Oh, hey, my friend Rita is going to Saint-Malo that day, too. Any chance you can give her a lift in your coach to save her paying for a spot in someone else's?"

Flynn hesitated and then shook his head. "I'm sorry, I would offer, but it isn't possible."

Yuri waited for the explanation of why it wasn't possible, but none came. "Well… ok, then. Too bad."

"Sorry. See you at supper."

Yuri left to return to his job at Ar Kometenn. Several hours later, it was time to take dinner over. Flynn hadn't written him a message at lunch, since they were together all afternoon, but Yuri pulled out his wax tablet to write something himself. For the first time, he didn't need to track down Estelle to help. His message was short, probably spelled wrong, and used a mix of upper and lower letters because he couldn't remember which were which, but he was still pleased with himself.

_THaNgKs_

_-YURi_

* * *

Winter seemed to have used up all its energy on the blizzard the night Padreg was born, and the rest of February passed with mild weather. Snow flurries occasionally drifted through the air, only remained on the ground in shadowy corners. Otherwise, it just turned the streets to mud or lightly dusted the white sand on the beach north of town. It was the kind of weather where it was too warm and sunny to stay huddled inside by the fire all day, but still too cold and dead to do anything productive outside. Because of that, Yuri had plenty of time to work on studying without feeling like he was missing out on something else.

Through the rest of February and into March, Yuri gradually grew more confident with letters. At first he'd been irritated when Flynn told him he was writing them wrong, because it seemed to Yuri that you should be able to draw the little symbol in whatever order you wanted. After a while, though, he got into the rhythm of writing them and found that following Flynn's silly "stroke order" actually helped keep everything legible, orderly, and consistent. Flynn let him take the hornbook home, so he glanced over it in the kitchen while peeling potatoes or waiting for water to boil.

One evening in mid-March, Yuri was busy with the usual dinner rush. He and Mari used to work together to serve and clean up, but Mari was currently busy feeding Padreg. On top of that, Mrs. Lagadeg wanted to limit the amount of time she and Yuri spent together. They'd been friends since they were young children, but Mari's mother had been so scandalized when Mari told her about Yuri's involvement in Padreg's birth that she seemed to think Yuri was barely restraining himself from the desire to be so intimate with Mari again. He wasn't sure how to explain that rather than whetting his appetite, Yuri's experience with labour had made him more positive than ever that he would rather romance other men. That kind of confession would get a lecture about sodomy and a dragging by the ear to church, and admitting that he didn't care what God thought of his sex life because he wasn't even convinced God was real might get him convicted of heresy. This winter was not nearly cold enough for him to consider risking getting tied to a stake and set on fire.

The door opened and Raven strolled in, stomped mud off his boots, and plopped down at the recently vacated table by the fire. He waved to Yuri. "Yo! Waiter! Get me beer! And food!"

Yuri rolled his eyes and called back, "Wait your turn, old man."

Ten minutes later, he arrived at Raven's table with a pint of beer and a plate full of slices of roast pig. He took the seat across from Raven and stretched his legs, but kept an ear open for the next person to call him over.

"Finally, I'm starvin'." Raven dragged the plate toward him and began shovelling pork into his mouth. "And this is the last good meal I'm gonna have for a few days, 'cause tomorrow I'm takin' a coach out ta Kemper. Two days in a bumpy coach on those zigzaggy mountain roads."

Yuri had never been beyond Zaphias because he couldn't afford to travel. "What a pity."

"Seriously!"

"What are you going there for, anyway?"

Raven gulped down some beer before answering. "Remember, I mentioned back at Epiphany that Alexei's real curious about him. I finally have enough time for him ta send me over and do some snoopin'."

Yuri chuckled. "He's sending you over there just to learn more about Flynn? What, does Alexei have a crush or something?"

"Couldn't say." Raven shrugged. "He just wants me ta find out more about his business, who this Niren he inherited from was, who his parents are, that sort of thing. Ya know Flynn showed up with the bare minimum of paperwork, and I think Alexei is just suspicious about him earnin' his wealth properly."

It was hard to imagine polite, generous, friendly Flynn earning his wealth illegally or unethically. Though, Yuri as also very curious about Flynn's business ventures, because he'd still never been more detailed than "I'm a merchant". Maybe if he had access to send scouts out to track down answers, Yuri would have done the same thing. "If you find out anything, let me know. I'm curious too."

"Will do."

The tavern door swung open again, and this time Karol, Ted, and a gaggle of other boys came rushing in. "Yuri!" Karol yelled.

Ted shouted, "Yuri, you won't believe this!"

The rest of the patrons watched the boys run to Raven and Yuri's table with mild interest. The boys clustered around, babbling over each other in a mix of panic and excitement.

"Whoa, hold on." Yuri held up his hand. "One at a time. Karol, what happened?"

"We saw a ghost!"

Ted elbows him in the ribs. "We think we saw a ghost."

Another boy said, "We didn't really see it so much as… figure out it was there."

"But it was a ghost!" Karol insisted, wide eyed and nervous.

"Hey, hey," Raven said. "Slow down a bit, ol' Raven can't follow what you're goin' on about."

Yuri nodded. "It pains me to say it, but Raven's right. What do you mean a ghost? Where? What happened? One person explain."

The boys glanced around before silently nominating Karol to explain. He took a deep breath and gathered his wits. "Ok… ok, we were playing by the graveyard. We were having a snowball fight on the street outside - you know, where all the snow piles up in the shade of the church. Anyway, Ted made a snowball and he threw it at my head, but he missed and it want over the graveyard wall and smacked a gravestone. We felt really bad about hitting a grave, so we all turned to shout at Ted to be more careful. But then, out of nowhere, a snowball hit the back of my head! I had my back to the graveyard and none of the others were behind me and they all swear it wasn't them."

Ted gushed, "But there was no one in the graveyard!"

Another boy nodded vigorously. "We looked! We went into the graveyard to find the culprit, but there was no one there, not even any footprints in the area where the snowball came from."

"And I thought about your ghost, Yuri," Karol said, "and I realized we must have just encountered the same thing!"

Raven frowned. "What's this about a ghost, Yuri?"

Yuri waved his hand. "Nothing. Some girl pulling a prank on me back in January."

Karol hugged himself and shuddered. "It wasn't a prank, Yuri. I think there really is a ghost in that graveyard."

Raven straightened up in his chair. "Ah, well, interestin' story about that…."

Yuri sighed and resigned himself to having to comfort the kids later over whatever inane ghost story Raven was about to tell them.

Putting on a serious and foreboding air, Raven began. "You know the story of the Ankou, right?"

The boys nodded. No kid in Brittany grew up without hearing stories of that personification of death.

"They say that the Ankou of each parish guards the graveyard. So it sounds ta me like you angered the Ankou, and he threw a snowball back at ya. But, ya know what else they say?" Raven leaned forward conspiratorially. "The Ankou can only be detected by those that are close ta death."

The boys exchanged panicked looks. "That can't be right!"

"I mean, we didn't see him!"

"How could we all be close to death, right?"

Karol, looking like Death himself was looming over, stammered, "D-does it matter if I'm the one he hit with a snowball?"

Yuri sadly shook his head. "Sounds like he's about to reap your soul. Shame. Been nice knowing you, kid."

"Ah! Yuri! Y-you're joking, right?"

Yuri struggled to keep from smiling. "Would I joke about something like this?"

Karol tugged on Ted's arm. "C'mon! Let's go back to the graveyard and apologize to the Ankou!"

The other boys nodded in agreement and the whole group scampered out of the tavern. When they were gone, Yuri and Raven both had to laugh. They kept snickering until someone on the other side of the tavern called for Yuri to get him a refill, so Yuri reluctantly ended his break and returned to work.

* * *

On a windy Monday afternoon in late March, Yuri showed up at Flynn's house with lunch as usual.

"I can't stay to practice reading today," he said. "There's an especially low tide this afternoon, so I'm going down to the beach to collect seafood." They stood in the library, where Flynn was now accustomed to eating lunch. Apparently he had totally reorganized the books since Yuri first began visiting it, but Yuri didn't notice a difference.

"Oh, ok." Flynn looked a little disappointed at that. "Could I come with you?"

"You want to muck around in tidepools looking for limpets?"

Flynn smiled. "Sure. I used to do that as a kid."

"Alright then. I'll wait for you to finish lunch and we can head up to the beach."

Yuri spotted Flynn's secret mystery diary on the table by the window and once again, the urge to flip it open consumed him. If Flynn hadn't been in the room, he might have taken just a quick peek. He was at the point now where he could slowly sound things out and guess at the words he wasn't sure of based on context. Knowing how to spell things on his own was another matter, but he could probably get the gist of a diary entry. Raven was currently in Kemper, digging into Flynn's history, while the answers to so many questions no doubt sat in the book only a few feet away.

It was good when Flynn finished eating and they could leave the room with the temptation. They left the house and began the walk toward the north gate. The wind caused Yuri's hair to whip around behind his head and the grey clouds promised rain later, but he wasn't going to miss this perfect day for tidepooling. They stopped at his house for a moment to grab some buckets and let Hanks know he'd bring crab back for dinner.

The beach was already littered with other town residents when they arrived. Both of them removed their boots and rolled their pants up to their knees before heading onto the freezing sand. Yuri preferred shellfish gathering in summer, but he wasn't one to complain about free food. At high tide, the sea lapped at the steps down from the north gate, or even crashed directly against the down walls. The salt stains and ancient barnacles clinging to the stone fortification was proof enough of that. On this windy day just before the first day of spring, however, the water had retreated almost half a mile from the steps. Yuri and Flynn set out onto the wet sand, seaweed covered boulders, and pools the tide had left behind. Yuri had spent his whole life scouring the tidepools for the best spots, and every local had their own preferred areas to hunt. Yuri made a beeline for his favourite patch of boulders, while Flynn veered off to a different section where the sand gave way to a four-foot ledge.

"What do you expect to find over there?" Yuri called when he was ankle-deep in watery sand. "You don't find tidepools on the side of vertical cliffs."

"Thank you for the feedback!" Flynn crouched and his head disappeared below the ledge.

Yuri shook his head and went back to searching his preferred patch. He pulled away mussels that clung to the sides of boulders and tossed them into the bucket before returning to the hunt for a crab. It killed Yuri to know Flynn was probably passing over dozens of mussels due to his terrible sense of taste. "I bet I'll find more over here than you will over there."

Flynn's head popped back up again, sand clinging to his eyebrow from where he'd wiped his forehead. "Are you making a wager?"

"Oh, yeah, it's on. We'll weigh our buckets in an hour, shall we?"

Flynn's grin spread across his face. Why was he so damn handsome? "You're on. What does the winner get?"

Yuri thought for a moment. What did he want from Flynn? His money, his house, his access to food…. Yuri pushed those thoughts away; it would be nice to not be dirt poor but he didn't resent Flynn's wealth and he would die before his pride let him ask for money. "How about… I get to read a page from your diary."

Flynn raised his eyebrows. "That's all you want? Alright. And if I win, you have to… uh, you don't have a diary so… tell me an embarrassing story about yourself. Better yet, I get to ask Mr. Hanks for an embarrassing story."

Every embarrassing thing Yuri had ever done in his childhood flashed before his eyes, accompanied by the glee Hanks would have in telling any and all of them. "You're on." There was no way Flynn could beat him, when Yuri had fifteen years of experience trawling this beach for shellfish and knew exactly where to find the biggest harvests. That diary page was so close he could taste it. His only fear was that Flynn might write in long, stuffy language that was too difficult for Yuri to decipher. So far he could read Flynn's handwriting whenever they exchanged notes, but Flynn had begun deliberately writing very clear and simple sentences.

Yuri splashed through the freezing sand on his hunt for shellfish. His bucket crawled with crabs, mussels, limpets and prawns. He'd lost track of Flynn on the beach, but spotted Estelle and Rita about fifty feet away. Rita sat on a rock with her feet pulled up and arms crossed, while Estelle had hiked her skirt up to her knees and happily rustled around in a tidepool. Karol and his parents we filling a bucket with oysters closer to the pier and Ted and some of his friends braved the freezing water to try to catch lobsters farther out. Yuri went west, to a tidepool he knew past the edge of town. The beach here rose up to sparse, reedy grass that flapped in the strong wind. Rising up behind it was the hill upon which Alexei's chateau sat. Yuri wondered if lords ever came digging for fresh shellfish, but he didn't think he'd ever seen Alexei out here.

When the church bells rang, the hour was up. Yuri's bucket was full to the rim, so he lugged it back to the steps with a confident smile. He hoped to get some juicy details from Flynn's diary. He saw Flynn sitting on the steps with Estelle and Rita, bucket sitting on one of the lower steps. He waved when he saw Yuri and stood to greet him.

"Good afternoon. How did you fare?"

"Pretty damn well." Yuri thumped his bucket down beside Flynn's and finally got a good look at Flynn's bucket. A heap of oysters overflowed the top of the bucket and looked ready to spill over. "What the…?"

Flynn smiled innocently. "I think I brought in a pretty good haul as well. Rita is going to determine which is heavier."

Yuri nodded as Rita picked up both buckets, one in each hand. He was still staring at Flynn's bucket and wondering how on Earth Flynn had managed to find so much on his first ever hunt on this beach. Yuri had spent his whole life learning where sea creatures liked to hide on this beach; was Flynn just supernaturally lucky?

Rita set the buckets down. "Flynn wins."

"No!" Yuri yelled.

Flynn beamed. "Thank you for your help, Rita."

Estelle held her own bucket, only partly full and mostly consisting of shrimp and couple crabs. "We should take all our buckets to Ar Kometenn tonight and have a feast. Doesn't that sound fun?"

"Yeah," Yuri said. "We'll cook them all up together." His heart wasn't really in it, though."

"Miss Estelle, if you would be so kind as to take our buckets to the tavern, I would appreciate it," Flynn said. "Yuri and I need to go have a chat with Mr. Hanks."


	5. Telling Tales

Yuri reluctantly brought Flynn to his house. This was the last thing he wanted to do, but a deal was a deal and he’d lost the wager fair and square. Yuri lived in a skinny house on a narrow, muddy alley. The lower floor was made of sandstone while the upper floor had half-timbering. It was a relief to step inside after the chilly afternoon on the windy beach, although his eyes had to adjust to the dim light. It wasn’t cold enough to waste wood on a fire this afternoon, so they made do with whatever sunlight could make it past the crooked buildings, laundry criss-crossing the street, and oiled sheets of linen covering the windows in place of glass (which they couldn’t afford).

Yuri glanced at Flynn when he led him inside. This was the house he’d known all his life and never thought much of it, but he suddenly thought of the chandelier full of candles in Flynn’s dining room, the large panes of glass in every room’s window, and the shiny polished floors. Flynn was so clean, put together, and more than a little dashing, and Yuri suddenly felt a surge of empathy for boys he’d known who got bashful and embarrassed when a girl caught them with spinach in their teeth.

Flynn had been looking around at the main room and then noticed Yuri’s expression. He smiled and said, “Your home seems very cozy. It reminds me of where I grew up, though you’re lucky; we didn’t have a chimney.”

Hanks had been sitting at the table in the middle of the room when they entered. He was repairing a belt, but set it down to talk to them. “Afternoon, Yuri. You don’t normally come home between dusk and dawn.”

Yuri rested a hand on his hip and shrugged. “Yeah, well, my friend wanted to meet you….”

Hanks stood to shake Flynn’s hand. “Good afternoon, sir. You’re Mr. Scifo, aren’t you?”

Flynn nodded and looked a little embarrassed. “That’s right. But, ah, you can just call me Flynn. I’m not really an upperclassman or anything.”

Yuri snorted. “No, you just live in a mansion for kicks.”

Flynn blushed and shuffled his feet. Yuri wondered if he was feeling awkward about his home compared to Yuri’s as well. While Yuri feared Flynn looking down on him, perhaps Flynn feared Yuri resenting him.

“Ah….” Flynn bit his lip and decided to move on. “Mr. Hanks, what we’re really here for is that Yuri and I made a wager this afternoon.”

Hanks raised his eyebrows. “What kind of wager is that?”

Yuri grimaced. “Who could collect more shellfish. Flynn won - somehow - and his prize is that he gets to ask you for a story about me.”

“Yuri wanted to read my journal,” Flynn explained. “So, I thought it would be a fair exchange.”

Hanks laughed. “You want a story about Yuri? Embarrassing, I hope?”

Yuri closed his eyes and grimaced. “You don’t have to enjoy this so much, Hanks.”

“The more embarrassing the better,” Flynn said.

“I have plenty of those. Sit down, I’d be happy to fulfil the terms of Yuri’s defeat.”

Flynn took a seat at the rickety wooden table and folded his hands politely in front of himself. Yuri sat perpendicular to him and leaned back, arms crossed, ready for the worst.

“Let’s see….” Hanks drummed his fingers on the table. “Oh, yes, I know. Yuri, you see, did not want to be breeched.”

Yuri closed his eyes and leaned his head back. Why was this Hanks’ favourite story? Why did he insist on telling it? Everybody in the neighbourhood Yuri’s age or older remembered it.

“Were you involved in that?” Flynn asked, glancing between Hanks and Yuri. “I’m sorry, Yuri hasn’t told me much about himself. I understand you aren’t actually related, though. Was Yuri a foundling?”

“I’m adopted. Sort of.” Yuri would gladly tell this story if it would forestall the other one. “Hanks and his wife were friends of my family. I don’t know who my dad was, but when I was a baby, I lived with my mom and her parents. But, you’ve seen that calvary in the graveyard, yeah?”

Flynn nodded solemnly. “Yes. I know there was a plague outbreak here.”

“Right. It was in the summer of 1608. They tried to control it with the old locking-up method, so when my mom found a bubo on her neck one morning, she knew the whole family was gonna get quarantined in the house until either the plague ended or we were dead. So, she took me to the Hanks’ house before the watchmen found out she was infected and asked them to look after me.” Yuri didn’t have any memories of his mother, for which he sometimes felt guilty. He’d been less than two years old when she left him with Hanks, so it made sense he didn’t remember anything of it, but he still felt like a mother was someone you ought to remember no matter what. But then, maybe it was better this way. He didn’t miss his mother or the grandparents he’d lived with as a very young child, because he didn’t even remember knowing them. “Anyway, they took me in. The rest of my family died in that house, and I’m sure I would have too if the Hankses hadn’t taken me in. I’ve lived here ever since.”

“I’m sorry,” Flynn said gently. There was a lengthy pause and then Flynn added, “My mother also died of plague.”

Yuri met Flynn’s eyes for the first time since they sat at the table. He knew in an instant that unlike him, Flynn did remember his mother, and remembered her succumbing to the plague. In that moment of eye contact, Yuri forgot all his concerns about how different Flynn’s house was. What they lacked in a common class they made up for in a shared loss and passionate hatred for the disease that ripped their families apart.

“Anyway.” Yuri turned his gaze on the curtain flapping in the wind. “Hanks isn’t my dad but he raised me like he was. Mrs. Hanks died a few years back, but she was still around for the stupid story you’re about to get.”

“Yes, forgive me for the interruption. Mr. Hanks, please continue.”

“Right. So, Yuri was about six when he was breeched, and he was not happy about it.”

Yuri returned to closing his eyes as if that would prevent him from having to hear the story. All small children wore dresses to make it easier on mothers, but young boys were breeched and given pants when they got older. It had seemed perfectly sensible when he was six that dresses were better because he liked feeling the breeze on his legs.

“Yuri argued with my wife about it for an hour. She got him into the pants, but he wasn’t happy and kept waddling around like they were strangling him from the thighs. I’ve never seen a more over-dramatic kid.”

Flynn snorted, but Yuri stubbornly refused to look at either of them.

“So, she got Yuri into the pants and sent him out to play with his friends and show off his nice new clothes. Well, new hand-me-downs, but all the same. Yuri went out to play soldier with other boys, but at some point in the afternoon, he apparently decided that pants just weren’t cutting it and if we weren’t going to give him his old dress, then he’d just go without.”

Flynn laughed in anticipation of where this story was going.

“Yuri stripped off his pants and decided to spend the rest of the day free as the day he was born.” Hanks paused to laugh mid-telling. “So there he was, wearing an old patched shirt and nothing else, running through the streets and swinging a stick like a sword.”

Yuri felt compelled to speak up. “I thought you and Mrs. Hanks would get embarrassed on my behalf and let me go back to the dress.”

“And how’d that work out for you, Yuri?” Hanks asked.

Yuri sighed. “Just get on with the story.”

“My wife gave chase to try to wrangle him in, but Yuri was speedy little bastard. He ended up in the main square, and wouldn’t you know it, but none other than Lord Alexei was passing through on his way to city hall. Yuri was looking over his shoulder to see how close my wife was to catching him and I think you know how this ends.”

“Yuri crashed into Lord Alexei, I assume?”

“Naturally. So there we have a half-naked little boy crashing headlong into the legs of the most powerful man in fifty miles. Yuri fell over, dropped his ‘sword’, and gave the entire square a fantastic view of-”

“He gets the point,” Yuri said flatly.

Flynn was grinning ear to ear but he forced himself to be serious to ask, “What did Alexei do? He didn’t hurt Yuri, did he?”

“Nah, of course not,” Hanks said. “Alexei’s not that kind of noble. He picked Yuri up and looked around and said, ‘It appears someone has lost a child. And some breeches.’ My wife was mortified while Yuri was busy kicking and fighting to be put down, because at that age, Yuri had the survival instincts of a lemming. He’s damn lucky Alexei isn’t that kind of noble because not many commoners can say they’ve flashed a noble and then kicked him in the gut and got away with it.”

Flynn chuckled. “Yes… Alexei seems to be good to the people of Zaphias.”

“My wife dragged Yuri home by the ear. She started putting his belt on backward to make it hard for him to undo it by himself.”

Flynn was smiling in Yuri’s direction while Yuri refused to meet his eyes. “I take it Yuri did eventually consent to wearing trousers?”

Hanks was still laughing a little as he finished up. “Oh, sure, it took a couple of weeks but he settled in eventually.”

“I’m glad Yuri has grown out of streaking around the main square.”

“Alright, you got your damn story,” Yuri said. “Are we done?”

Hanks’ laughter faded out. “Fine, fine, you’re off the hook, Yuri. That’ll teach you to make bets.”

Flynn thanked Hanks for his time and he left the house with Yuri. They walked in silence for a few minutes on their way to Ar Kometenn for the seafood feast. Then, Flynn said, “So.”

“Don’t. I don’t want to hear it.”

“You didn’t like pants.”

“The wager was that you got to hear the story, not that you got to bring it up whenever you want.”

Flynn laughed again and Yuri hated him for it. It was becoming increasingly difficult for Yuri to pretend that simply noticing that Flynn might be considered attractive to some didn’t mean that ‘some’ included himself. Then, Flynn took pity on Yuri (because he was a goddamn gentleman, too kind and generous for his own good, and thrusting feelings upon Yuri that would only make his life more difficult) and changed the subject. “It seems like a lot of people in Zaphias have a high opinion of Alexei.”

“Oh, uh, yeah.” The change of topic took Yuri by surprise, but he welcomed it. “I mean, I don’t really know the guy but I’ve heard stories about nobles in other parts and he seems decent. Everyone says his older brother was a real piece of work and they dreaded him taking over when their dad died, so the older people are just thankful Alexei’s the one that survived the war and not his brother.”

“Hm.”

There were clearly a lot of unspoken words in that noncommittal sound. “What? You have a problem with him?”

Flynn shrugged. “I’ve only spoken to him once. He just… rubs me the wrong way. I wouldn’t extend too much trust in his direction.”

“Yeah? Well… ok.” Yuri scanned Flynn’s face to see if it would reveal anything else, but it was blank.

“You liked playing soldier as a kid, then?”

Yuri stepped around a puddle of melting snow. “Sure. We used to have sword fights all the time. Didn’t you?”

“I did. Then I joined the army and discovered it isn’t like that at all.”

“Oh, yeah?” They left Yuri’s narrow street behind and walked down the wider road toward Ar Kometenn. “Not as much glorious victory and one-on-one duels to decide the fate of the world, huh?”

“Heh. Not quite. Real war is a lot more sleeping in a leaky tent in the mud for a week, then having a terrifying and exhilarating afternoon where you think you’re going to get impaled with a pike, and then back to mud and stale food for another week.” Flynn smiled and waved to a woman they passed on the street - always the gentleman. “Not quite what I signed up for.”

“What did you sign up for?” Yuri had considered joining the army in the past. Every few years, a couple soldiers in snazzy uniforms came to town and started beating the drum in front of Zaphias’ various taverns. An officer would shout about becoming a man, serving your country, and seeing the world, and at the end of the day, they’d leave with a gaggle of young men nervously marching behind. As much as Yuri enjoyed sparring, and loved the idea of adventuring in far off lands, he could never wrap his head around the idea that it would require him to kill other people for no reason other than that he’d been told to.

Flynn sighed. “I wanted to get out of my hometown, really. I didn’t like the idea being born in a slum, living my whole life in a slum, and then dying in that same slum. I didn’t want to spend the rest of my life in a cramped smoky house, spending my whole life working to earn food just to fuel my next day working. So one day when I was young, a recruiting party came to town and started beating the drum while shouting about honour and glory and becoming a man and all that stuff. I thought, hey, maybe if I join the army, I can rise through the ranks and become an officer and make something of my life. Maybe I’ll become someone who can return to my home neighbourhood and help everyone else, too. So I signed up, hugged my mother goodbye, and marched out of town the next morning.”

“You regret enlisting?”

Flynn had to think for a bit. “Sometimes. I am glad I had a chance to see more of the world but I often wonder how my life would have turned out if I’d stayed home like my mother begged me to.”

“Would you have met the guy who made you rich?”

Flynn shook his head. “No. I’d never have left the gutter I was born in. I never would have met you.” He looked to Yuri with another radiant smile. “So it can’t have been all bad.”

Yuri’s heart fluttered a little at that. Shit. This was going to be a problem.

* * *

 

A few days after their seafood feast, Yuri was on his way to the public fountain with a bucket swinging in his hand. The wind still hadn’t let up, and he was considering caving to Estelle’s suggestion of cutting his hair off. As he passed the church, he spotted Raven strolling toward the main road out of town.

“Hey! Old man!”

Raven swivelled around and then grinned. “Yo!” he said with a wave.

Yuri detoured away from the fountain to meet him in the square. “Should have known you got back. I felt the atmosphere get slimier.”

“Cruel. This old man just spent two days gettin’ jostled around in a coach and this is the greeting you give? The seats didn’t have any paddin’ and the roads were bumpy as hell.”

“Your poor ass.”

“Hmph. My ass _was_ hurting, if ya must know.” Raven massaged his hip as he spoke. “And it was two days ta get ta Kemper in the first place, then a few days in a crummy inn.”

“Your life is a tragedy.” Yuri shifted the bucket under his arm and leaned on one foot. The weather was too windy and grey for many people to be out walking around, so the square was empty save for a few rats lurking in the shadows. “You were there to spy on Flynn’s life, right?”

Raven wrinkled his nose. “Don’t say it like that. I didn’t look inta anything that wasn’t public record.”

“Ha, fine.” Yuri gave a quick laugh to make it clear he didn’t feel protective over Flynn or anything.

“And if your next question was gonna be, ‘so what, in fact, was Flynn up ta in Kemper?’, that answer is no clue.”

“Really? You didn’t find anything?”

“I found zilch.” Raven shook his head. “I tried ta find record of any business he’d done down there, but no one claimed ta have ever worked with him. I did find people who said they were pretty sure they’d seen him around and there was a house that he used ta own, but nothin’ really identifyin’. No baptism records or marriage certificates for his parents - or anyone with the name Scifo that might be his parents, for that matter. I talked ta the parish priest, who said Flynn moved ta town about seven years ago sayin’ he’d come from Rennes.”

“So did you go to Rennes?”

Raven snorted. “Hell no. That would be another several day trip and Alexei didn’t give me any money for the fare. I have a feelin’ he’s gonna send me sooner or later, though.”

“Man, that’s weird.” What Raven had said at the end finally registered with him and he said, “Hey, hold on. He moved to Kemper seven years ago? By himself?”

Raven nodded. “Yeah. Said he came in on a coach havin’ bought a house and moved in.”

Yuri frowned; this didn’t make sense. “I thought Flynn was around my age. He said he grew up poor and then joined the army, and inherited the merchant business after. He’d have to be at least seventeen to join the army - maybe sixteen if the recruiting captain was desperate for cannon fodder.” Yuri’s forehead creased as he worked out the math. “Join the army at sixteen. Serve for a few years… they’d make him do at least three or four. Then enough time to meet this Niren guy and become his heir. I guess that happened in Rennes.” It suddenly occurred to Yuri that in all their conversations, Flynn had never actually mentioned where he’d grown up. Yuri had always just assumed Kemper, and now he wondered of Flynn had been counting on him making that assumption. “Flynn was in his early twenties at least when he moved to Kemper, even though I thought he was in his early twenties now and that was seven years ago.”

“Yeah… I don’t know what ta say. Guess he’s just one of those lucky guys with a youthful face.”

Yuri folded his arms and stared into the fire. Could Flynn really be nearly thirty? Where did he find the time to fight in the army? And, hold on, hadn’t Ragou said he’d been fighting in Italy in 1625? But he was apparently living in Kemper as a rich merchant for the past seven years! “Yeah… this doesn’t make sense.” Yuri wondered if Alexei had known how suspicious Flynn’s backstory was before he started snooping. What had tipped him off about Flynn to inspire the investigation? “I’m going to talk to Flynn tonight and hopefully get some answers out of him.”

That evening, Yuri arrived at Flynn’s house ready to interrogate him. Unfortunately, Flynn wasn’t home.

“He’s out at the moment,” Sodia told him primly. “But I expect he will be home soon. You can leave supper for him in the dining room.”

“I can wait; I don’t mind.”

“For what purpose? You hardly need to hand the food to him in person.”

It was clear from Sodia’s manner, and from everything Yuri had learned about Sodia in the past three months, that she wasn’t going to put up with him hanging around just waiting for Flynn. “Fine. Just give me a sec.” He left the food on the table and then pulled out his wax tablet. He hadn’t written a message today because he planned to speak with Flynn in person, but now he wrote out his questions as well as he could. Hopefully, Flynn would write back with answers.

* * *

 

Flynn and Judith strolled up the street to his house. They had entered spring now, so the sun didn’t set quite so early and they had light to see by in the evening. Dusk had almost given way to true night by the time they reached the gate to Flynn’s front garden.

“Thank you for walking home with me. Can I invite you in?” Flynn asked.

“My, aren’t you a gentleman. I do have work tonight, so I’ll have to ask my boss if it’s ok. Is it ok, Flynn?”

Flynn pushed his gate open. “I think you can spare a few minutes at least.” Flynn had joined Judith on a delivery trip today, and even if the trip didn’t take long, these sort of trips always left him feeling very tired and eager for the company of friends. He led her through the main entrance and smelled food from the kitchen. He had a moment of conflicted thoughts, because he was pleased food was waiting for him but disappointed Yuri had come and gone before he got home. “Smells like Yuri’s been here.”

“Lucky you. Wouldn’t it be easier to just stock your own kitchen and have Sodia or Leblanc do the cooking?”

“They’re busy enough keeping the rest of the house running.”

As if on cue, Leblanc appeared out of the living room. “Did you call for me, sir?”

“Oh, Leblanc.” He turned and smiled. “No, I’m sorry, I was speaking with Judith.”

Leblanc glanced to Flynn’s side and nodded in understanding. “I understand, forgive me, sir. Also, Alexei’s man returned from his trip to Kemper today. I don’t know what he learned while there, but I thought you should know.”

Flynn frowned and he was glad Sodia wasn’t here to give him a look and very loudly not tell him ‘I told you so’. He’d been so looking forward to moving to Zaphias, and he thought it had been long enough that Alexei would safely ignore him, but unfortunately it seemed she had been right. But, he told himself, things would probably work out fine. Maybe Alexei was suspicious, but he had no proof and probably wouldn’t believe the truth even if he found enough clues to work it out. Flynn rather enjoyed the life he was building in Zaphias and wasn’t about to drop it all and run away at the drop of a hat.

“Thank you for telling me. If anything comes of this, I’ll deal with it.”

He and Judith entered the dining room and Flynn hoped to put thoughts of Alexei behind while he enjoyed his dinner. Yuri’s wax tablet sat next to his plate and he smiled as he always did when Yuri left him a message. There had been a sharp decline in wordiness when Yuri first switched to trying to write them himself, but over the weeks, he was gradually able to write more and more. Deciphering his handwriting was another hassle, but Flynn held out hope that it was just due to inexperience and he’d settle into a more legible hand eventually. Then Flynn actually opened the tablet and read the message, and he went right back to weary again. Yuri wrote everything phonetically and had a shaky grasp of punctuation, but Flynn could still work it out.

_Flynn -_

_I toked 2 Raevin. I am ??_

_1\. How old r u_

_2\. Wen wer u in the armee_

_3\. Wat do u sel n-e-wae_

Flynn put the tablet down with a sigh. Besides getting a hint as to what spelling conventions he should work on with Yuri next lesson, the questions disheartened him.

“What does it say?” Judith asked, so he pushed it across the table.

She glanced over it, struggling a bit more with the spelling and handwriting because she wasn’t as used to it. Flynn quietly ate his monkfish as he mulled over the message and wondered how to reply. He hated lying and made a point of avoiding outright lies whenever possible, but he didn’t have much choice if Yuri asked him an outright question.

“I want to tell him the truth,” he said after Judith had read it. Yuri was quickly becoming his favourite part of Zaphias, and hiding a huge part of his life from Yuri created a barrier that would put a limit on how close their friendship could ever be.

“You could if you want.” Judith sat across from him with her arms crossed, leaning forward on the table. “It might make things complicated, though.”

“I know. Niren did warn me to cautiously limit how many people I share with. I trust Yuri, but everyone who knows is one more outlet where information might slip through, intentionally or not.”

“True.” Judith nodded slowly. “It would probably be best not to tell him. I won’t stop you if you decide you want to, though.”

Flynn stared at the wax tablet with a pensive frown. He’d only worked with Judith for a few months, but he’d already come to appreciate her honest and blunt way of giving advice. He picked up the stylus from the tablet and began to write on the board opposite Yuri’s questions. He spent a couple of minutes writing out clear and concise answers to all of Yuri’s questions, spilling out his life story and explaining exactly what was going on. It lifted a weight from his shoulders to open up and when he was done, the tablet was crammed full of all the words he wished he could say.

Judith eyed the tablet. “You’ve decided what to tell him, then?”

Flynn stared and words popped out at him: _“I’m sorry for not being forthcoming earlier, but…” “The truth is…” “Please don’t be alarmed…”_

“Yes.” He picked the tablet it up and carried it across the room. “I’ve decided what I need to tell him.” Flynn held the tablet over a candle and watched the wax soften and ooze together. His secrets blurred and faded into the wax. It had felt so good to write it all out… but now he had to decide what he was actually going to send back to Yuri.

When it was cool, he wrote a much shorter answer.

_Yuri,_

_I will answer your questions as much as I can._

_1\. I am twenty-five years old._

_2\. I joined the army at the age of 17._

_3\. I work in exporting mainly._

 


	6. May Day

Yuri tried not to be bothered by Flynn's mysteries. The brevity of his answers to Yuri's questions was proof enough that he didn't like talking about his past. The timing of events was just barely plausible, too. Yuri could buy Flynn as twenty-five, and that would make him eighteen when he moved to Kemper seven years ago. That only left one year to be in the army and Yuri didn't think they let you quit after just one year, but that led him to the theory that Flynn had actually deserted, hence the reluctance to go into details. As for fighting in Italy three years ago, Flynn must have been lying about exactly where he served. Alexei had also been in the army about thirty years ago, and maybe he could smell a rat and wanted to prove a deserter to punish him. He hadn't made any move yet, so he must not have enough evidence. Yuri hoped it remained that way and let the issue drop. He enjoyed spending time with Flynn and if Flynn didn't want to talk about his past, that was his right. They had enough fun chatting about the present, or, in Yuri's case, complaining about how nonsensical spelling was.

The cold winds of March gradually gave way to a sunny and clear April. As the weather warmed, they spent more and more low-tide days gathering seafood at the beach. Yuri had more free time, because sitting around in a tavern was more popular during dark and cold winter nights and the longer hours of daylight and warmth led more people to stay outside or in their own homes. Yuri was fine with not spending as much time at Ar Kometenn, because Padreg still tended to wail every few hours and it grated on Yuri's mind like nails on a chalkboard. He couldn't wait for the kid to get old enough to be interesting, but Yuri had never been able to deal with babies.

On a sunny afternoon in mid-April, Yuri and Karol made their way out of town with swords in hand. Karol had held onto the old sword Nan had found all winter, and the weather and timing was finally right for Yuri to give him some lessons. Sparring with a rusted old hunk of metal wasn't ideal, but it was better than the sticks Yuri had used for most of his childhood. As they neared the gate, Yuri spotted Flynn walking toward them. Yuri held up a hand in greeting.

"Yo! Where you headed?"

Flynn stopped in front of them. "Oh, good afternoon. I was just… checking something. I'm on my way home now."

"What sort of something?" Karol asked.

Flynn shifted his weight and glanced to the empty air beside him. "Just, uh, an interesting stone in the countryside."

"The menhir?" Yuri asked. Menhirs - tall, upright stones erected in the ground centuries or maybe even millennia ago - dotted the countryside across Brittany. Yuri knew there was one not far from town, though he'd never put much thought into it. Making big rocks stand up out of the ground was just one of those weird things their Celtic ancestors did.

"Yes. I'm interested in Celtic history. Where are you two going armed like that?"

Karol held up his rusted old sword. "Yuri's going to teach me to sword fight!"

Flynn smiled down at him. "Is that so? I didn't know you were a swordsman, Yuri."

Yuri shrugged. "I'm alright."

"Do you mind if I join you? I'm not bad with a sword myself."

"Sure!" Karol grinned. "It would be cool to get lessons from a real soldier!"

Yuri put on an offended face. "What, am I not good enough for you? Anyway, Flynn, do you need to go get your own sword?"

Flynn shook his head. "I'm afraid I don't have mine anymore. I'll go with you and, if you're willing, take turns."

"Sounds good to me." Yuri led the way through the town gate. They destination was a patch of grass strewn with dandelions pressed against the town walls. Beyond the town, they could see the fields of crops and workers from the nearby farming villages labouring in the fields.

"Why don't you have your sword, Flynn?" Karol asked. "I see lots of older men around town with old swords and pikes and stuff and they all claim they're family heirlooms from being in the army. Did you not get to take yours home with you?"

"I did," Flynn said. "But unfortunately I lost track of my sword on my way to Zaphias. It must have gotten lost on the move. And I didn't even bother holding onto my pike; I always preferred the sword and it took up too much space."

"That's too bad."

"May I see your sword?"

Karol handed it to Flynn. He turned it over in his hand and inspected the rusty blade. "Huh… where did you say you got this?"

"Nan found it!" Karol puffed himself up. "She said it was lying on the side of the ravine. I figured some rich guy must have dropped it."

Flynn examined the hilt with a crease in his brow. "Yes… most likely. It's unfortunate; this is a good sword." He gave it back. "I'll let you and Yuri go first."

Yuri had never had formal sword training. He'd learned by sparring with older kids and picking up tips from old veterans in the tavern. He'd never been in an actual life-or-death fight before and giving lessons in front of Flynn, an actual soldier, made him feel self-conscious. After giving Karol some basic pointers, he handed his sword off to Flynn to teach Karol more formal stuff. Yuri sprawled in the grass and watched them as puffy white clouds drifted overhead. It really was a perfect spring day. Bees buzzed in the distance and, as always in Zaphias, the slosh of waves filled in the backdrop.

He leaned back on his elbows and watched Flynn patiently demonstrating swordsmanship for Karol. Every movement of Flynn's was careful and powerful. He was more skilled with a sword than Yuri could ever hope to be considering his military background, and he couldn't stop wondering what the muscles behind those perfect sword swings looked like beneath Flynn's shirt. For a few weeks now, Yuri had been grappling with the fact that every time he looked at Flynn he remembered the huge chasm of difference between what he wanted to happen with Flynn and what could actually happen. In his wildest delusions, he imagined this afternoon sans Karol, where he dragged Flynn into the grass with him and they rolled around in the dandelions. He longed to touch more than Flynn's shoulder or hand, and to be touched in return. What did Flynn's lips feel like, taste like?

In his fantasy, the town gate was closed tight to keep any other eyes from spotting them, because he knew exactly what would happen in that event. So he kept his fantasy firmly in the part of his mind that daydreamed about things like owning a castle or growing wings and flying over the sea. Even if Flynn returned his feelings (which he didn't), Yuri doubted Flynn was the kind of man who would risk his reputation or his life on a tryst. Even if Flynn did want to act on it (which he wouldn't), their chances of not getting caught eventually were low. Even if they never got caught (which they wouldn't), spending their entire relationship sneaking and hiding while knowing execution might greet failure sounded miserable. So Yuri had decided weeks ago that his thoughts about Flynn would be nothing more than daydream fuel, and he was content with that.

"Yuri!" Karol startled him out of his imagination. "Here, you take a turn sparring with Flynn. Let me see what you've got!"

Yuri pushed himself up and brushed weeds from his elbows. "I don't know how great I can be next to the amazing Flynn, but I'll give it a shot."

"Swap swords," Flynn said, holding out Yuri's. "You should fight with your own sword."

"If you insist." Yuri took his sword from Flynn and squeezed the familiar, battered hilt. He met Flynn's eyes for a moment, and then they moved as one to begin the fight.

Flynn was good. Yuri had never sparred with someone who had actual training before and his natural talent and self-taught manoeuvrer struggled to keep up. If they weren't purposefully going lighter and slower than usual because Flynn's sword was a rusted piece of junk, Flynn would have easily won. The thrill of an actual challenge made Yuri's heart race and it didn't take long before both he and Flynn were grinning as they parried and turned around the grass. They each landed a few blows, but since both swords were long blunted, the only injuries were bruises.

"You're pretty good." Yuri was trying to manoeuvrer Flynn against the wall but Flynn kept stepping out of the way before he could.

Flynn thrust forward and nearly landed a blow on Yuri's shoulder. He smiled and said, "You as well. I just have the benefit of a few years of professional training."

Yuri swung his sword up to stop Flynn's with a loud clank. "In the army?"

"Yes." Flynn took a few steps back. "I'm sure you'd be amazing if you had a proper instructor."

"So…" Yuri dodged and slashed as he considered this. "When did you have time to have 'a few years of training' if you were only in the army for one year total?"

Flynn froze. Yuri was already mid-strike and his sword struck Flynn's shoulder, making him stagger to the side and clutch it.

Yuri dropped his sword and reached forward. "Are you ok?!"

"Fine." Flynn brushed his hand away. "Just bruised." The sword was so blunt, it hadn't even cut through the fabric of Flynn's shirt.

"Guys?" Karol looked between them from where he sat in the grass. "What happened?"

Yuri met Flynn's eyes levelly. "For how many years did you serve in the army, Flynn?"

"Just the one year. I misspoke." Flynn met Yuri's eyes for a few seconds and then glanced away.

God, he was such a terrible liar. Yuri wasn't even sure what to make of this. The only thing that made sense was if Flynn was actually closer to thirty, which would give him enough wiggle room to have a military career and then move to Kemper seven years ago. It was strange, though. Flynn had such a youthful face that it was hard to imagine him closer to Raven's age than Yuri's, and if he was, why lie about it? But, Yuri had already decided he would stop worrying about it. Whatever Flynn's age or past, Yuri still enjoyed his company. He ought to put all these questions behind him rather than poison a perfectly good friendship with prying questions.

"Alright…. Sorry for hitting you." He gave Flynn a look that hopefully got across his message that he wasn't dumb enough to believe him, but didn't care enough to press.

"Is something going on?" Karol asked.

"No," Yuri said. "I was just going to give you a chance to go again. Here, get Flynn to show you that cool side-step he did."

Yuri returned to sitting on the grass. He liked Flynn. He liked having a sparring partner who could give him a run for his money, he liked having someone to populate his fantasies, and he liked having a friend that he already felt he could talk to about anything after only four months. He just wished that Flynn could tell him everything, too.

* * *

The rest of April passed with sunny weather and lazy days spent sprawled in the grass. The approach of May drove off the last vestiges of winter and Zaphias prepared for the May Day festival. It was a day to celebrate the return of longer days and warmer weather, as well as an excuse to drink, dance, and be merry. On the day of the festival, the streets of Zaphias were packed with both residents and visiting traders and music filled the streets.

Flynn was not among the revellers that morning, though. He remembered playing on the beach when he was a small child and watching a wave taller than him rise up toward him. He'd stood frozen, knowing it was too late to outrun it, and just waiting for the water to knock him over. Today, he felt the same dread looming over him as he wandered along the stream toward the ravine. There was nothing waiting for him at the end of his walk, but he'd felt the need to get out of the city today and enjoyed the shade of the birch trees.

Raven was gone, no doubt investigating his past in Rennes. He'd left almost a week ago, so Flynn expected him to return any day now and tell Alexei all he'd learned. What would Alexei make of it? There was no way Alexei would understand the truth just from what Raven could learn in Rennes, but it might be enough to harden his suspicions. He may not have any proof that Flynn had done anything wrong, but a noble could throw their weight around and make life miserable for any commoner in the way without needing solid evidence. At this point, the wisest course of action would be to pack everything up and leave Zaphias before Raven got back. Tell no one where he was going and start over in another town, one where he could blend in more seamlessly.

He couldn't, though, for a couple of reasons. The first reason was Yuri. Flynn liked Yuri. Flynn liked him more than he probably should. Being around Yuri made Flynn happier and lighter than he'd felt in years and dropping everything to start over in a new town didn't sound as easy as it had when he left Kemper or Rennes. He wasn't sure what he wanted to ultimately happen with Yuri because he knew it couldn't last forever, but whatever it was, he wasn't ready to give up now.

He walked past a clump of lily of the valley growing around the base of a tree. The tiny, bell-shaped flowers hung from thin green stalks. Flynn had a sudden urge to pick a handful of them to give to Yuri as a gift. Last century, someone had presented the king at the time with a bouquet of them as a May Day gift, and he'd begun the tradition of giving them out to the fine ladies of court. They were a gift for someone beloved, and it was silly that he had briefly considered giving them to Yuri. Yuri was just a friend; why had his mind even fleetingly suggested giving him such a romantically-coded gift?

He shook his head and moved on. He reached the waterfall, where the thin stream tumbled over a few large boulders at the entrance to the ravine. Flynn easily scrambled up these rocks, avoiding the water that would ruin his boots and then brushing his hands off on his breeches when he reached the top. The ravine was nothing more than a narrow gash through the hillside. The stream flowed through with barely any space for a bank on either side, with a handful of bushes and trees taking up the remaining space. If he wanted to get away from other people for a while, this was the place to do it. At the top of the waterfall, Flynn turned and took a seat. He let his legs dangle over the side of the boulder and fixed his gaze on the church steeple visible above the trees.

No, he didn't want to leave Yuri, but that wasn't the only reason he was unwilling to leave Zaphias. He cared about this city and the people in it. They'd welcomed him with open arms at the night of the Epiphany and he'd received nothing but kindness from the residents. That was why he couldn't bear the fact that something horrible was going to happen to them.

Flynn wasn't sure what, but awful foreboding gripped his heart. Like the wave that had crashed upon him and nearly drowned him had his father not been watching to sweep him out of the sea, disaster loomed over the city and it was too late to do anything about it. He could not run away out of fear of Alexei and leave Zaphias to suffer whatever tragedy was looming. He had to stay to help and mitigate the consequences to the best of his ability. For Yuri's sake, and for everyone else.

* * *

Unlike the Epiphany celebration, May Day involved the entire town and outlying villages as well. On the day of the festival, the market hall was once again packed, but this time with traders. They spread out blankets and tables and covered them with food, trinkets, clothing, textiles, pottery, and anything else that might be sold.

Yuri spent the morning sparring with Karol outside the town walls and watching the trade-laden carts trundle into town with interest. Both of them had always loved trade fairs, because while they might not have a chance to visit the rest of the world, on these days, a little bit of the rest of the world came to them. They grew hung as the sun reached its high point and headed into town to find a vendor. Yuri treated Karol to a lunch of crepes, and then they split ways. Karol ran off with Ted to play at the beach, while Yuri made his way to the market hall and wandered the rows of merchants. He had a handful of coins saved up and wanted to buy something nice for Padreg, like a little toy or maybe a hat. Having spent so much time at Ar Kometenn over the years, he thought of Mari and her child as being like family and after the horrifying and stressful experience at Padreg's birth, he was keen to see the kid grow up well and not put that to waste.

As he wandered down the row, he spotted the familiar figure of Flynn leaning against one of the wooden columns. Flynn had his arms folded and gazed vacantly at one of the sandstone buildings across the square.

"Hey." Yuri stopped next to him and his voice startled Flynn. "I didn't see you around this morning."

"Oh! Yuri, I'm sorry, I didn't notice you approach. I went for a walk outside of town this morning; I apologize if you were looking for me."

"Is everything ok?"

Flynn stared at him for a few seconds and Yuri could see the thoughts stirring behind his eyes as he tried to decide what to tell him. "Yes… there's nothing wrong."

Flynn and his secrets. "You're obviously bothered by something. What is it? Are you worried about Raven?"

"No." Flynn shook his head. "It has nothing to do with Raven. It really is nothing, Yuri. I'm just having one of those days, you know? Like there's a heavy weight hanging over me and I'm waiting for it to drop."

"That sounds like you're worried about Raven."

"I'm not." He gave Yuri a stubborn look. "I don't know what's causing it. Don't you ever have those days? Where you can't shake a feeling of dread even though you have nothing tangible to be anxious over?"

Yuri shrugged. "Can't say that I have."

"Oh. Well… just trust that there is nothing immediately wrong for me, ok? I'm just feeling weird today."

"If you say so."

"I'll talk to you later. All this music and laughter is giving me a headache."

Yuri watched Flynn leave with mild confusion. The music in question came from a small band playing from the steps of the church, and they hadn't even brought a bagpipe this time. The space between the market hall and the church was filled with those dancing to the beat of the drums and flutes. Yuri spotted Estelle among the crowd, and Rita skulking along the sidelines. He shook his head and continued his search for a gift. Flynn was really starting to get on his nerves. Yuri was still crazy about him, but secrets kept piling on and Yuri wasn't sure how much longer he could tolerate being lied to.

He stopped at a stall set up near the butcher's shop. Stacks of folded blankets lay on a much larger and more tattered one on the ground. Yuri paused to look them over and noticed a small one with a pattern of blue and green triangles in a circle in the middle.

The trader, who'd been sitting on the ground and leaning against the column beside his blanket, looked up with a pale, sweaty face. "Something catch your eye, sir?" He had a Gallo accent, implying he'd come from the east or farther south, in the region between the Breton speakers and the French.

Yuri nodded at the blanket he wanted. "That one's not bad."

"You want it?"

Yuri wasn't dumb enough to tell a vendor he specifically wanted something, not before a price had been given. "Depends on how much you expect to get for that old thing."

"Old? My wife made it last month. I'll sell it for two livres."

Yuri scoffed. "I can tell you're not feeling well, but has it made you delusional too? I can get an old rag like this from a local for five sous."

The trader huffed and struggled to his feet. "As if. Look at the neat stitching around the seams." He prodded the blanket with a dirty finger. "At least one livre."

Yuri folded his arms. "I am looking at the stitching, and it's not impressive."

The man stared at the blanket, sighed, and rubbed his temples. "Alright, look, kid, I'm not feeling too hot. Take it for ten sous; I really can't go any lower than that."

"Deal." Yuri almost felt guilty for taking advantage of a man who clearly wasn't feeling well enough to barter aggressively, but he'd take the cheap blanket. "Thanks a lot."

He handed over the coins and walked away with the small blanket folded under his arm. Mari was going to be thrilled, though hopefully he could find a time to present it to her when her mother wasn't around to think he was trying to woo her. On the topic of presents, he saw a young woman laughing over a bouquet of lily of the valley as a blushing young man shuffled his feet in front of her. Yuri had handed out flowers this morning, giving handfuls to Estelle, Rita, Mari, and Mrs. Lagadeg. He'd also pushed Karol toward Nan to give her his own nervous bouquet. As he watched the girl lean forward to kiss the young man on the cheek, Yuri had a quick moment of regret that he hadn't given some flowers to Flynn along with the others. But of course, it would have been ridiculous, and Flynn would have been confused about why he was getting them.

He was on his way back to his house to drop the blanket off to give to Mari later when he heard Raven calling his name. He turned around and saw Raven pushing past a throng of dancers to meet him. "Hey. Did you just get back?"

Raven nodded. "Yeah. Got off the coach five minutes ago. I'm supposed ta go right ta Alexei, but I thought you'd want ta hear this."

Yuri glanced around at the ground, then grabbed Raven's arm and pulled him out of the main square and into a side street, empty enough that a few rats lurking in a shadow ran away when they neared. Whatever Flynn's secrets were, Yuri didn't want the whole town knowing. "Ok. Tell me what you learned about Flynn."

"Ok, so, he told ya he's twenty-five, right?"

Yuri nodded.

"Well… I think he's older than that. A lot older."

Yuri frowned and shook his head. "But how is that possible? Look at him. He looks like he's barely old enough to shave."

"Yeah, I know. But I was in Rennes, right? I went ta the town hall and found the records of when he bought a house there, seventeen years ago."

Yuri stared at Raven, sure he'd heard wrong. "That's not possible. Even if he only did one year in the army and then scammed a dying old man to get into his will within a couple months, that puts him at over eighteen when he'd have the money to buy a house in Rennes. There's no way he's thirty-five."

"And get this," Raven went on. "I spoke with the lawyer who finalized the sale back then. Said he remembered Flynn, 'cause he was such an odd client. He thought it was odd that this baby-faced kid with not a drop of noble blood had the money ta buy a house, and asked about his finances. Flynn said he'd made money in Saint-Malo, where he'd lived for a few years."

Yuri's confused deepened. Kemper, then Rennes, and now Saint-Malo. He had to squeeze a few more years into his calculations, which resulted in an even more unbelievable age. "He can't possibly be pushing forty." Plus, Yuri had directly asked him about his age and Flynn had stated he was twenty-five. Why would he lie? Why couldn't he be honest and say 'I look very young for my age, but I'm actually forty'?

"It goes deeper."

Yuri's eyes shot to Raven's face. "You're kidding."

"The lawyer suspected Flynn of making his wealth illegally. Y'know, even back then there were a lot of corsairs in Saint-Malo, so he thought Flynn was involved with them. He went over to check it out himself, 'cause the mayor would have his head on a pike if he'd helped a pirate move to town. But when he got to Saint-Malo, he spoke with the parish priest who confirmed Flynn was an upstandin' citizen who'd dutifully attended mass every week for almost ten years."

"Ten more years!? But that would make him fifty! Hell, that's older than Alexei!"

"I know. It doesn't make a lick of sense. The lawyer asked why I was interested and I didn't know how ta tell him that a chubby-cheeked young man named Flynn Scifo had moved ta my town, lookin' for all the world like he's not a day older than twenty-five."

Yuri pressed his hands to his face and then ran them through his hair. "So, either he's some immortal magician who does nothing with his magic but buy houses and move around, or he's a con artist who stole the identity of a nice old man named Flynn Scifo who's pushing fifty. Or maybe he has really good skin cream, in which case he should sell it to Rita because her bear grease clients would eat it up."

Yuri wasn't sure what he believed, or wanted to believe. Obviously the most sensible solution was that Flynn was lying about his identity. Perhaps the real Flynn Scifo had died and Flynn - or the man known as Flynn - had stolen his wealth and identity to weasel into a bigger house. Yuri hated that solution, because it would mean that Flynn was a much more deceptive man than he'd expected. He'd always gotten the impression that Flynn was telling him what he could and the secrets were for good reason, but this story would shatter Yuri's impression of him. The other idea, that Flynn was some magical being like the faeries that populated Breton folklore, was even more impossible though. Was it possible that Flynn really was a fifty year old man who looked really good for his age?

"Ok… Raven, can you do me a favour and not take this info to Alexei until I have a chance to talk to Flynn?"

Raven nodded. "Sure thing. I'm not keen on skippin' the festival to go report right away, anyway. Cider is callin' me, so I won't be goin' ta Alexei until this evening."

"Thanks."

Yuri took off in search of Flynn. Whatever was going on with Flynn, he was getting to the bottom of it today. No more lies, no more vague answers. In the main square, Yuri spotted Estelle and headed over. "Hey! Estelle!"

She pulled herself out of her conversation with Rita and another girl and stopped giggling to ask, "Yuri? Is something wrong?"

"Have you seen Flynn?"

"Um… I think I saw him go up to the beach. Why?"

"I just want to talk to him. Sorry for interrupting."

She gave him an odd look because his expression made it obvious something was bothering him, but didn't press the issue.

Yuri hurried away toward the beach. His mind raced to come up with a sensible explanation, but couldn't find one. Through the north gate, he spotted Flynn sitting on a rock midway between the wall and the water. Tide was moderately high today, so the beach was much narrower than when they scrounged for seafood. Karol, Ted, and some other boys were busy splashing and yelling as they tackled each other in waist-deep water, while some older man stood around on the pier and chatted away from the festivities in town.

Yuri marched through the sand until he stood over Flynn. His shadow approaching caused Flynn to look up, and he frowned when he saw Yuri's face.

"Yuri? What's wrong?"

"How old are you?"

Flynn raised his eyebrows. "That's what you stormed over here to ask? I told you; I'm twenty-five."

Yuri folded his arms. "I know that's a lie. How old are you?"

Flynn rose from the boulder and turned to face Yuri. "I'm twenty-five. Why do you say I'm lying?"

"Ok. So, you want to explain to me where you found time to live in Kemper for seven years, Rennes for ten, and Saint-Malo for another ten? And be in the army? And have seventeen years of childhood before the army?"

Flynn's confused expression edged toward anxiety. "What are you talking about? Of course I haven't lived all those years; I'm only twenty-five."

"So, Raven is lying? The documents he found showing your chain of homeownership are all falsified? The lawyer and the priest from two different cities who both claim to have known you as a young man twenty years ago are both in on this conspiracy?"

Flynn's mouth slowly opened, but all that came out were his teeth to bit his lip. His confusion was long gone; he understood exactly what Yuri was talking about, and it had put him in the mind of a trapped animal.

"Well?" Yuri locked his gaze on Flynn and refused to break eye-contact. He wouldn't accept anything but the pure truth this time, and his stance made that obvious to Flynn. That was why Flynn stood frozen like a deer staring down the shaft of an arrow.

"Yuri…. Believe me, I'd like to explain, but-"

"No buts!" Yuri stomped the sand. "Are you actually fifty years old? Or are you not really Flynn Scifo?"

Flynn fiddled his hands together. "It's… I just…." His head perked up and his expression turned from discomfort to panic. "No," he whispered, more to himself. "Not today."

"Huh?"

And then Flynn was running, racing toward the waves as he tore his coat off. He let it fly back onto the sand as he splashed toward the boys playing. Yuri watched him, baffled, just as the playing boys stopped and stared in confusion as Flynn approached. Except… no, not all of them were. Yuri's eyes darted over the faces and his chest clenched. Ted wasn't there. He'd been playing with the others when Yuri arrived, he was sure of it, but there was no sign of him among the boys now. The men on the pier were watching, too, but their expressions were of idle amusement at the sight of the rich man drenching his clothes and getting hit in the face by an in-coming wave. Flynn passed the boys and kept going, until the water was up to his chest. Then he reached forward and heaved a bedraggled form out of the water. The men on the pier gave a shout as Flynn began hauling the motionless boy back to shore.

The boys were all screaming now, crowding around Flynn even as he tried to shoo them away. Yuri was shouting, too, and running shin-deep into the waves. He reached to take Ted from Flynn's arms, but Flynn ignored him and sloshed to the shore. A few of the men had run to town, no doubt to fetch Ted's parents, while they others ran forward to see if they could help. As soon as Flynn reached dry sand, he dropped to his knees and set Ted down. Yuri waited in panic for the boy's eyes to open for his chest to rise with a breath, but he lay motionless.

"Come on, Ted!" Yuri fell to his knees next to the boy, all thoughts of Flynn forgotten. He ran a hand over his forehead to smooth the soaking hair away from and shuddered at how cool his skin was. "Damn it!"

"Out of the way." Flynn shoved Yuri aside and bent over Ted. He pressed his mouth over Ted's own, almost like a kiss, and breathed.

Yuri, who had fallen backward into the sand with Flynn's shove, just stared in panic. He didn't know what Flynn was doing, but his own plan was to shout and rage, so he'd let Flynn do it. The children jumped up and down, clung to each other, and babbled both with fear and guilt that they hadn't noticed their friend swim out too far. More adults began streaming through the gate and to the beach, and all the while, Flynn kept pinching Ted's nose and breathing into his mouth. Yuri waited for Ted to gasp and spring back to life, and he hadn't taken a relaxed breath of his own as long as he waited.

The shouting of Ted's parents running through the gate caused Flynn to glance over his shoulder. He looked down at what looked too horribly like a dead body for Yuri to tolerate and then muttered something under his breath. When Flynn leaned down again, he moved his hand from Ted's nose to his chest. Flynn bowed his head and squeezed his eyes shut. Yuri watched in utter confusion, because if breathing for Ted wasn't working, what good would resting a hand on his chest do?

Then, just as Ted's mother screamed and arrived beside Yuri, Ted's eyes flashed open with a deep gasp of air. Flynn sat up while Ted coughed and rolled to his side to spit out water.

"Ted!" his mother shrieked as she clutched him and then continued to gush words of affection and relief. She took enough time to look at Flynn, his fine clothes still drenched from his rush to the sea, and gushed, "Thank you, oh  _thank_  you! You saved him, you saved my son, thank you so much."

Flynn blushed and said, "I was just doing what anyone would have, ma'am." Then he caught Yuri staring at him.

Yuri knew what he'd seen. Well, he didn't, but he knew that it hadn't been natural. He would have sworn that Ted was a gonner, and then Flynn had done… something to snatch him back from the jaws of death. Were Yuri a religious man, he'd have chalked it up to Flynn praying. "Flynn."

Flynn sighed. "I know, Yuri."

Yuri stood and grabbed Flynn's arm to help him up. "We need to talk."

Flynn nodded. "I suppose you deserve it."

The crowd was too busy rejoicing over Ted's survival to stop them leaving. The biggest hurdle was how many people wanted to pat Flynn on the back and begged him to come let them buy him a drink. They returned to the town, and then Yuri jerked his head toward the stairs next to the gate leading up to the ramparts. Yuri marched up the steps, Flynn following close behind. At least he wasn't trying to run. Up here, they were safely away from the crowds filling the streets below and could talk in peace. Over the battlements, Yuri looked down at the people gathered around Ted, whose mother was still cradling him on the beach. On the other side, he looked down on the shingles of houses and shops packed tight against the wall. Yuri folded his arms and leaned back against a crenellation.

"So. You want to tell me what that was about?"

Flynn stood a few feet away and picked at lichen on another crenellation. "I wasn't aware I needed to justify saving a boy's life."

"You know what I mean. How did you know he was drowning? The men on the pier hadn't noticed him struggling, and even the boys in the water with him didn't realize he was in trouble and had slipped under. You weren't even looking at the ocean when you suddenly realized he needed help."

Flynn's brow creased. His eyes drifted from the stone to the beach below. "Would you believe that I sensed it?"

"Sensed it how?"

"I just… knew."

"And then when you put your hand on his chest and brought him back to life?"

Flynn shook his head. "He wasn't dead yet, though it was very close. Even I can't resurrect the dead."

"But you can resurrect the  _nearly_  dead?"

Flynn didn't answer and just licked his lips.

"And before you ran off to rescue Ted - which I'm grateful for, of course - we were talking about how old you are. Flynn, what is going on? I thought we were friends."

Based on Flynn's wince, his last words had affected Flynn. They were friends, but Flynn hadn't been very good at it and he knew it.

"Whatever is going on in your life, you can trust me. I just want to know what it is."

Flynn's hand fell still as he stared at the blue-grey sea. After a long moment of thought, he looked to Yuri. "Ok. You're right: we are friends. I think you deserve to know the truth, and to be honest, I'm glad to finally share it with you. Sit down."

Yuri sat in one of the empty squares of the crenellation and pulled his legs up to sit horizontally, as if it were a windowsill. Flynn paced in front of him while Yuri watched expectantly.

"I'm going to tell you my story - the full story, from the beginning. I would prefer if you didn't interrupt and held all your questions and comments of disbelief to the end."

"Ok…." Now that the moment was here, Yuri was nervous about what Flynn was going to tell him.

"Alright." Flynn stopped pacing and turned to face the city, his back to Yuri. "I was born here, in Zaphias… in the year 1574."

"But how-?"

"Please." Flynn glanced over his shoulder. "Just listen."

"Sorry."

"As I said, I was born here in 1578. We lived on the other end of town, so I doubt Hanks or any of the older people in your neighbourhood knew my parents. As I told you, I joined the military when I was seventeen years old. My story proper begins during the Siege of Amiens, in 1597, where I served as a sergeant beneath Seigneur Dinoia and his younger brother, Alexei."


	7. A Long Time Ago

The Siege of Amiens had begun last May, and it was now early September. Amiens was the capital of Picardy in north-eastern France, and had been captured by the Spanish in March. Flynn's regiment had been camped outside it for over four months now, though he liked that this battle was against the Spanish. All the previous battles he'd been part of had been against other Frenchmen as part of the tangled mess of religious wars that had been tearing France apart for most of the century.

It was evening, and he sat around a campfire with a handful of other soldiers. Their fire was just one flickering light in the sea of cooking fires surrounded Amiens. Flynn could barely remember what the land around the city had looked like when they first arrived, because he'd grown so accustomed to the trenches and earthworks they'd dug around the gates and the dirt roads ground by feet and carts between neighbourhoods of tents. Most of the summer had been spent sitting around, polishing breastplates and shooting the breeze. It was not the noble adventure that Flynn had expected when he enlisted almost six years ago, but he didn't mind the break from action. He had more time than ever to practice reading and writing, a talent that made communication with officers easier and helped him stand out for promotion, and after spending the summer in a camp with thousands of reinforcements from England, he could say he had a decent grasp on English as well as French and his native Breton.

"I am not cooking it wrong," one of the soldiers said.

"I say, those sausages are completely overcooked!" Adecor, a tall and thin soldier in Flynn's regiment, seemed to have a complaint for every occasion.

"I like them this way!" the other soldier argued.

Flynn sighed and closed his eyes for a second. "Can you all stop arguing? Adecor, they're better overcooked than under. We haven't had a supply shipment in a while and fire would at least kill any worms that might be in them."

Adecor looked sheepish. "Ah… you are correct, of course. Sorry, Sarge."

Flynn still sometimes forgot he was a sergeant now, because he'd been promoted just before the start of the siege and had done very little sergeanting while they sat around and waited for orders. Flynn had risen up the ranks quickly, and even as a corporal, the others had looked to him for leadership. He couldn't shake the fear, though, that others assumed he got the promotion through connections - or worse, that he actually had. By chance, he'd been transferred to the regiment lead by Seigneur Dinoia, heir to the lordship of Zaphias. When the lord's younger brother showed up to serve as ensign a few years later, he had gladly befriended Flynn, calling him 'practically a neighbour'. Alexei was a good kid, who'd leapt at the chance to join the military as soon as he was old enough and live up to his older brother's reputation. Flynn enjoyed having someone he could speak Breton to, but he didn't want to believe that he'd been promoted just because he was on friendly terms with the captain's brother.

They were taking the sausages off the sticks when the thud of horse hoofs caught their attention. Flynn looked up to see a man on horseback coming down the dirt road toward their fire and quickly grabbed Boccos' pike and pulled it out of the way before it was trampled. The horse came to a stop next to them and a man in a plumed hat spoke up. He didn't get off the horse to speak, the better to look down his nose at them.

"Who is the ranking officer here?" the man demanded in a voice with more snoot than an elephant.

Flynn rose and saluted. "I am, sir."

The man glanced him up and down as if looking for a sign proclaiming he was lying. "You?" The unspoken words were,  _I was expecting someone older_. "Well, whatever the case, you need to deliver this to your captain." He held out a folded paper sealed with wax.

"Yes, sir."

Flynn took the letter toward the captain's tent. Curiosity buzzed in his mind, but it would be inappropriate to snoop in his captain's mail. He reached the captain's tent, which was made of red fabric and had a French flag flying from the top and a banner with the family coat of arms hanging by the entrance. He was just about to announce his presence and ask permission to enter when he heard a voice.

"That's a terrible idea!" This was Alexei.

"I didn't ask for your feedback."

"We might be able to take the southern bastion-"

"Of course we will," Seigneur Dinoia replied. "His Grace personally asked me to ensure it was done."

"Yes, but moving on into the city from there will never work."

Flynn wondered if he should say something, deliver the letter, and leave, or else leave now and come back when they were done arguing. Unable to decide, he just stood there uncomfortably while the brothers argued within the tent.

"We can push on from the bastion and force the Spanish north, over the river, and take control of the city gate. From there, we can hold the gate, leave it open, and allow the whole might of the French army to storm in and dispose of the Spanish."

"One small raiding party cannot make it through the streets of Amiens to hold the gate!"

Dinoia made a scoffing sound. "The entire raiding party does not have to make it. Only one man needs survive to open the gate. Those shielding him will have done their job if he survives long enough to allow our forces entry."

Flynn's heart sank and it seemed Alexei was taken aback by his brother's callousness as well. If the captain gave orders, Flynn had no choice but to follow them or face execution for insubordination. But if the captain ordered Flynn to lead his men on such a mission, they would all die anyway.

"You're proposing a suicide mission?" Alexei asked coldly.

There was a bang from a fist hitting a table. "If that's what it takes to end this tedious siege!"

"But-"

"Go, Alexei. I'm tired of you complaints. Your job is to hold the flag, not debate my strategies."

Flynn had only seconds to take a few steps back and then walk forward to mimic having just arrived before the tent flap opened and Alexei stormed out. Alexei gave him a glance as he passed, but didn't comment. Flynn hesitated, and then stepped inside to deliver the letter.

* * *

 Two days later, they began the raid.  Flynn stood with his squad while the whispers flooded behind him.  Seigneur Dinoia had just given them their orders for the raid, and Flynn had heard a few sharp intakes of breath at the news that they were expected to form a V around Dinoia himself and charge through the streets of the occupied city immediately after capturing the bastion.  He hadn’t said it, but they were all smart enough to know they weren’t expected to survive this.  Dinoia was going to use them as meat shields to make himself the hero of the battle.

As the order was given to begin the march to the southern bastion, Flynn made his decision.  If he did as ordered and led the squad on the suicide mission, he would die and all the others would die, too.  But, if he told his men that Dinoia had changed his mind and given them new orders, he could lead his squad safely back to camp after they captured the bastion.  He would then be arrested and hanged for defying orders, but he would die if he followed them and at least this way, the others wouldn’t go out with him.  

The fighting began.  They fought uphill toward the battlement in the early hours of dawn, when light was still scarce.  Flynn had no time to worry about what would happen after they secured the bastion while he was busy keeping his head on his shoulders amid the crash of steel and curling musket smoke.  After over three months of inaction, his muscle memory sprang to life and took control in the heat of the battle.  

And then there was a brief break in the battle immediately around him.  The Spaniard he’d been fighting fell to the ground, probably dead though Flynn cared for his sanity too much to look close.  There was a natural gap in the soldiers that gave him a view to the fighting twenty feet away, where Lord Dinoia slashed through soldiers from atop his horse.  A flash of red and blue through the white smoke hanging over the field announced the arrival of Alexei, on a horse of his own, flag waving from his pike.  Dinoia glanced toward the approaching horse, saw that it was his brother, and turned his back to him to continue the fight.  

Flynn was about to move when Alexei raised a pistol and fired.  There was a boom, more smoke joined the haze, and Seigneur Dinoia fell from his horse.  The Spaniard Dinoia had been fighting, who had flinched and obviously expected the bullet to be aimed at him, stared in shock.  Dinoia lay on the ground, still moving feebly despite the blood covering the back of his neck between helmet and cuirass.  The Spaniard looked down, hesitated, and then drove his sword down to finish the job.  

“My brother is dead!” Alexei bellowed over the fray.  “They have slain the captain!  Vengeance!  Vengeance!”  He looked around the battle, stirring the French into a fury.  His eyes landed on Flynn, who still stared at him in shock.  For a long second, Alexei’s stony face dared Flynn to say anything.

Then Flynn looked over his shoulder to his own squad and shouted, “Charge!  They’ve slain the captain!” and the battle resumed.  

An hour later, the bastion had been taken.  Upon capturing it, the troops looked around nervously and asked who would ride in the centre on their charge to the gate now that Seigneur Dinoia was dead.  Alexei had ridden to the front of the troops to take command, as he’d been the second-highest ranking on that raid despite his young age.  

“We will end our raid here,” Alexei shouted to the surviving soldiers.  “The loss of my brother is too great a blow.  Without his leadership, a charge to the gate would be folly.  Half of you will remain here to hold the bastion, the rest will return with me to camp.  Relief for those left behind will arrive later this afternoon.”

The gathered troops gave a cheer, which Flynn struggled to join.  It was the greatest relief to know he hadn’t been forced to defy orders and send himself to the gallows, but he couldn’t shake what he’d seen.  He supposed it was possible that someone else had shot Dinoia at the same time Alexei aimed to shoot the Spaniard, but Flynn doubted it.  The flash of panic he’d seen on Alexei’s face when he caught Flynn watching was enough.  As Alexei rode past them now, he met Flynn’s eyes once again.  Alexei’s glare silently dared him to speak up and report him for murder.

Flynn wasn’t sure if he would.  Rather, he knew he wouldn’t, but he wasn’t sure if he wanted to.  He had no proof of what he’d seen and a commoner accusing a noble of the ultimate crime with no other witnesses or evidence was more like to get Flynn in trouble than Alexei.  Did he wish he could, though?  Had he not been planning insubordination of his own to ruin Seigneur Dinoia’s plan?  Alexei had taken matters into his own hands and killed his own brother rather than let him send troops on a suicide mission.  Flynn ought to be thankful.  Still, he couldn’t help but think that Alexei seemed awfully calm for someone who had just killed his brother, and wondered whether taking his brother’s place as heir to the Dinoia family and all its associated wealth and power hadn’t been a factor in Alexei’s plan. 

* * *

 The Siege of Amiens ended on the twenty-fifth of September.  The Spanish were driven out, but not before suffering many losses on their side.  Their regiment received a new captain, because while Alexei had taken his brother’s noble title, he was still barely nineteen years old and not experienced enough to take command.  Flynn liked their new captain well enough, and faithfully fought under him through the rest of the siege and into battles beyond it.  The relationship between him and Alexei was never quite the same, though.  Every time Flynn looked at him, he couldn’t help but wonder whether Alexei’s primary motivation had been saving the troops, or if it was a convenient chance to take his brother’s place as heir.   Whenever Alexei looked at him, Flynn could feel a similar turmoil of wondering how much Flynn knew, how much Flynn suspected, and how much Flynn would tell.  

The civil war between the Protestants and Catholics finally came to an end a year later, in the city of Nantes in the spring of 1598.  Flynn’s regiment was in the south when it happened, and spent the rest of the year and part of the next quashing any local Catholic factions that hadn’t gotten it through their heads that they weren’t allowed to massacre Protestants anymore.  By the end of the summer of 1599, something very close to peace settled over France.  The countries around them were embroiled in their own turmoils while France closed out the sixteenth century just holding onto the stability that had come after the Edict of Nantes.  

The lack of immediate need for soldiers led to downsizing the military until the next war began, and Flynn took the opportunity to retire. He was twenty-five, and had served in the military for eight years by that point.  He was a sergeant, had numerous scars as mementos of his many battles, had the respect of both the men who served under him and the officers he reported to, and, in short, had accomplished everything he’d daydreamed about when he marched out of Zaphias as a teenager.  While most of his fellow soldiers had spent their regular paychecks on women and wine, Flynn had carefully budgeted himself and put most of it away in savings.  He could return to Zaphias with enough money to get his mother out of the slums, and the literary skills to get a decent job as a clerk.  

Alexei left the military at the same time.  He was now twenty-one and had attained the rank of sous-lieutenant.  He had a few notable victories under his belt, but had decided it was time to return home and take his place as his father’s heir.  Since they were both making the journey to Zaphias, it was only natural that they would travel together.  Even for a trained soldier, journeying alone across the countryside was just begging to be robbed or worse. They spoke to each other more on the long walk home than they had in the two years since the Siege of Amiens.  Throughout all their idle chatter, though, they never brought up the raid on the southern bastion.  The topic skirted dangerously close at times, which caused them to once more meet each other’s eyes in awkward silence and pointedly not talk about it.  

The trip back took months.  For most of it they were on foot, and both delighted in being out of the army and no longer forced to travel at a marching pace.  They traversed the old dirt roads connecting cities, and took several days to move on at times if the city was comfortable enough. Flynn worried about going through his savings, but Alexei laughed and promised that he would happily pay Flynn’s fees for the pleasure of staying a few days and maintaining his company. They didn’t quicken their pace until they reached Angers in late November and realized they had little time to reach Zaphias before winter began.  Alexei bought a horse to carry their belongings and that they could take turns riding.  

On December thirty-first, they left the village of Lambal.  The last week of their journey had been much less pleasant than the earlier days.  Winter had come early this year and it had been snowing almost non-stop since Christmas.  The roads were thick with snow and covered in mud where they weren’t.  The walk from Lambal to Zaphias should only take one afternoon during the summer, but they’d left that morning and were still trudging through the hills late into the night.  At the very least, it had stopped actively snowing by the time they were making their way along the ravine.  Alexei was riding the horse while Flynn wearily dragged his feet through the snow.  

Ahead, the moon shone on the spire of Zaphias’ church.  They were so close to home he could taste it.  Flynn’s mind filled with fantasies of walking into the old house he hadn’t seen since he was seventeen and hugging his mother.  He imagined the Epiphany festival Zaphias always held and pictured himself dancing with family and childhood friends only a week from now.  He didn’t regret his time spent in the army, but now he was so glad to be home.  His goal had been to make it home by the end of today, so that he could say he’d made it home by the end of the century, but based on his estimations, they would be an hour or two into 1600 by the time they actually entered the town.  

Alexei slowed his horse.  “Flynn.  Wait a moment; the saddle is coming loose.”  Alexei slid off the horse and crunched into the snow.

Flynn tried not to groan.  He was cold and exhausted and every delay between him and the hearth in his mom’s house prickled his nerves.  But, Alexei was both a noble and a friend, so he held his tongue.  “Can I help?”

“I’ve got it.”  Alexei had his back to him while he fiddled with the straps on the horse.  

Flynn hugged himself and shivered.  It had to be almost midnight and he craved a warm bed more than anything.  

“Did you enjoy our trip back to Zaphias?”

“Hm?  Yes.  It was nice to see so much of France while being able to travel casually.

“Good.  I’m glad you enjoyed it.”  Alexei turned around.  Flynn didn’t even have time to wonder why Alexei had pulled his pistol out before a heavy weight punched his chest.  “I apologize for having to do this.”

Flynn gasped and clutched his chest.  The warm blood seemed to burn his numb fingers.  He had time to look down and see the blood blossoming across his chest and then look back up at Alexei’s frozen face and smoke drifting from his pistol before the pain began.  “W… what?”

Alexei put the gun back in his pack and approached Flynn.  “I had no choice.  You know too much.”

Every breath came out as a strained gasp.  “But… I thought….”

Alexei grabbed Flynn’s collar and free arm.  “You’re a good man, Flynn.  Too good.”  Alexei glanced over his shoulder as if there might be someone on the path to see him this time, too.  “If what happened at the raid ever got out….”

Flynn feebly shook his head.  “I - I won’t tell.”

“I can’t risk it.” Alexei shook his head and spoke quickly, on the verge of panic.  “Even years from, if you mention something to friends, it would ruin me.  Don’t you understand?  I can be the leader Zaphias needs - I can’t risk even a rumour about - about any sort of suspicious circumstances around my brother.  No.  It would be bad for me and bad for all of Zaphias.  I have to do this.  I have to tie up all the loose ends.”  

He was babbling now and Flynn only half-listened.  His mind was racing to try to find a way to stop the bleeding while most of his weight was being held up by Alexei.  He was too injured, too far from home to have much hope.  

“But our trip home was fun.  You enjoyed yourself.  I did that for you.  I didn’t want to kill you, but I  _had_  to.  You understand, right?”  

Flynn was sure Alexei was justifying this more to himself than to Flynn.  He just shook his head.  “No…. I promise I won’t tell anyone.  Just… please….”  Zaphias was so close.  His mother was just down the hill.  After all the battles he’d been through, how could it end here, so close to the end after his days as a soldier were officially over?

“I’m sorry.”  Alexei dragged Flynn to the edge of the road.  “I had no choice.  It’s for the good of Zaphias.”

Flynn’s foot slipped on the edge of the road.  The steep ravine slope dropped away just behind him.  “No, don’t-!”

Alexei pushed and he toppled over the side.  Flynn tumbled down the ravine, the agony in his chest growing with every rock he rolled over.  He came to a stop at the base, inches away from the frozen stream.  Flynn lay on his back, struggling to breathe.  The fall had knocked the breath out of him, and one of his lungs had a bullet lodged in it.  At the top of the ravine, he saw the lantern hanging from Alexei’s horse begin to move.  The bastard was leaving him here to bleed out in the snow. Flynn groaned and clutched his chest wound again.  He wasn’t going to give in, not now, not so close to home.   Alexei should have made sure he was dead before abandoning him, because as long as his heart still beat, he’d keep trying to make it to Zaphias.  And then, he’d tell the truth.  He would have kept silent about Alexei’s brother’s death, but now Flynn wanted nothing more than to see the full force of the law come down on Alexei for his crimes.  

It felt like it would have taken less strength to lift a house, but Flynn managed to get to his feet.  He took one step, and then another.  Each step was a Herculean task as both the pain and the cold begged him to lie down and rest, but he knew that would mean death.  His only hope was to get to a doctor in Zaphias.  He had nothing he could use to help himself here, no blanket to keep work or staunch the wound.  He’d even lost the sword that had been in the sheath at his waist during the fall. With single-minded determination, he trudged onward to Zaphias.  

The moon glistened on freshly fallen snow.  It was a cold winter; the coldest one in memory.  Through this dark and frozen night, Flynn took a shambling step forward.  His foot plunged into snow and he stumbled, throwing out a hand to catch himself on a nearby birch tree.  For a moment he paused, gasping to catch his breath and feeling the cold air burn his throat and lungs.  He moved that hand back to press against his chest again when he continued moving.  A bright red hand-print stood out starkly against the white bark.  

Close.  He was so close.  Behind him, a trail of stumbling footprints revealed his long trek along the stream, but he kept his eyes fixed firmly ahead.  There, moonlight illuminated the snow-covered steeple of Zaphias’ church.  He just had to… make it….  

Flynn stumbled again, and this time he dropped to his knees.  Freezing snow pierced his pants legs and a shiver wracked his body.  He leaned forward and pressed his hands into the ground to push himself up, but pain and weariness held him back.  Bright red splattered onto the white snow below him.  With a grunt, Flynn managed to rise to his feet again, but he tripped over a rock after only a few more steps and collapsed forward. Sprawled on his chest in the snow, he tried to find the strength to get up again.  He shivered again; he could feel the warmth draining out of his chest and seeping into the snow.  Just get up, keep moving, reach the town and everything would be alright….

Snow crunched under heavy footfalls.  Flynn peered up through blurred vision and saw a person walking toward him, coming from town.  Thank God, help had arrived.  

The stranger crouched before him and spoke in a deep, gentle voice.  “It’s alright now.  You’re coming back with me.”

“Th… thank….”  He didn’t even have the strength to speak.  He tried to make out any details about his rescuer, but all he saw was a wide-brimmed hat silhouetted by the moon.  His head tipped forward again, too exhausted to wonder about their identity.  Someone else was here, so he could stop pushing himself to stay conscious now.  As he dipped into darkness, church bells began to clang midnight.  

“Flynn?  Come on, lad, it’s time to go.”  

No, please.  Flynn wanted to pass out and let his rescuer carry him to a doctor.  The last thing he wanted to do was get up again, but the man was shaking him, pulling his arm.  With a tired groan, Flynn struggled up again.  The man who had come to rescue him let Flynn lean on him and clutched his elbows for support.  Upright now, Flynn blinked to clear his eyes and found that the pain had ebbed away.  He looked up to see who is rescuer was and saw a tall, broad-shouldered man with brown skin and grey hair.  “Th… thank you.”

“No need to thank me.  My name’s Niren.  We just need to walk out of the ravine, now.  I couldn’t bring the coach any closer.”

“R-right.”  Flynn barely paid attention to Niren’s words.  They began to walk and Flynn found it was much easier than it had been before.  The pain in his chest had faded to the point of being barely noticeable and the exhaustion that had settled into his limbs had vanished.  He took a deep breath, delighting in how easily the frigid air filled his lungs.  He wondered how far he’d walked since Niren arrived and glanced over his shoulder.

It wasn’t until he looked back that he realized the truth.  He stopped, turned around, and stared.  His mouth hung open for a moment and then he let out a soft, “Oh.”

Niren paused and then stood beside him.  “You didn’t realize?”

Flynn struggled to swallow.  “I thought… I had made it.”  

His body still lay in a patch of red snow. No footsteps led away from it.  Flynn had to take a moment to process what he was seeing and what it meant and then said, “I can’t believe he killed me.”

“How’d you end up down here, anyway?” Niren asked.

Flynn turned around abruptly and hurried onward.  “I was murdered by a man I thought was my friend.”

“Damn.  That sure is a way to go.”  They reached the waterfall at the end of the ravine and climbed down.  A black coach with two horses waited under the birch trees.  

“Am I to assume you’re the Ankou?” Flynn asked as he climbed down.

“Yes, though it’s a bit more complicated than that.  Sit down in the coach and I’ll explain everything.”

Flynn paused on the bank of the stream.  Ahead was Zaphias, where his mother was waiting and Alexei would soon arrive to no doubt tell everyone that he’d had a tragic accident on the road.  He wanted to keep walking straight to his mother’s house, but then he looked down at the lack of footprints.  He was dead.  He still felt solid, but he was no more than a ghost.  The real him had been left behind to get buried in the snow and rot at the base of the ravine.  

Niren came up behind him and rested a hand on his shoulder.  “It’s a tough thing to accept.  I’m sorry for what happened to you.”

“I still can’t believe he did it.”  Flynn paused, and then frowned.  “No… I suppose I can.  He killed his own brother, after all.  I’m not even family.”

“I’m afraid I have more bad news for you.  Or, maybe you’ll look at it as good news.  Flynn, you are dead, but it’s not time for you to move on yet.  Sit down with me.”  Niren opened the door to his coach and climbed in.  

Flynn took one last look at Zaphias and then turned away.  He stepped into the coach and shut the wooden door behind him.  A lantern hung from a hook in the ceiling, make the dark wood of the interior rather cozy.  He sat across from Niren and rested his hands on his knees.  “Alright.  I think I know where you’re going with this.  I know all the old stories.  The last person to die in a parish one year becomes the Ankou for the next.  I heard it strike midnight just as I died.  I count as having died on December thirty-first, not January first, don’t I?”

Niren nodded.  “Yes.  You were already dead when the bells began to ring.”

Flynn nodded slowly and peered out the window at the snowy field.  He took a deep breath.  “Ok.  So I’m the Ankou now.  I’m taking over from you, correct?  All I have to do is collect souls and watch over the graveyard for one year.”

Niren hesitated.  “Yes and no.  You see, you’re not only the last man in your parish to die this year.  You are the last person to die in Brittany in the sixteenth century.  You’ve drawn the short straw for a much larger job, one that you will be inheriting from me.”

Flynn frowned.  “I don’t understand. I’ve never heard anything in the myths about it mattering what century you die in.”

“That’s because mortals don’t know about this part.  But, there are a great number of parishes throughout Brittany and each one has its own Ankou.  Sometimes, things get complicated.  What happens if a parish changes its borders mid-year?  What if two people die at the same time and both qualify to be the Ankou? What if the Ankou is very young and has trouble coping with their responsibilities?  That’s why there’s an overseer.  The overseer is special type of Ankou who serves for a term of one century and manages the individual Ankou throughout Brittany.”

“And that’s you?”

“Yes.  And now it’s going to be you.”

Flynn leaned back and took this in.  He didn’t like the idea of lurking the Earth as a ghost for an entire century.

“There are some perks.  The overseer is not a traditional Ankou, and can fake being alive.  Once you take the position, you will be… or at least, you will appear to yourself and others as a living person.  You’ll breathe, be solid, have body heat, eat, all that good stuff.”  Niren waved his hand.  “The only difference is that since all of that is, in fact, an illusion, you won’t actually age and you can’t die from hunger, sickness, drowning, anything like that.”

“Ok.”  That sounded slightly better.  It would be just like being alive, except he’d have to move around every few years to make sure people didn’t get suspicious about his age.  “Hold on, you said I can’t die of hunger, sickness, or drowning, but can I die of, say, being shot?”

Niren hesitated.  “I’m… not actually sure.  I’m sorry.  I do know that I - we - heal from injuries faster than when we were human.  However, I don’t actually know what would happen if your body was damaged to a point that would be lethal for a human.  I can only tell you what my predecessor told me, and no overseer has been injured to that extent in so many centuries - if ever - that we just don’t know.  So, my advice: don’t get shot in the head.”

Flynn smiled a little and rubbed his chest.  The shirt he wore was still stained and blood oozed down his chest, but the wound itself had closed.  “I will attempt to not get shot anywhere.  It’s not an experience I wish to relive.”  

Niren gave him a grim smile.  “You’re not going to be re _living_  anything.”

Flynn’s smile slipped.  “It was a figure of speech.”

“Heh.  Yeah, I know.  Now then, we don’t have much time.  At dawn, my time is up and I have to move on.  We have until then for me to teach you everything you need to know to be the overseer and answer any questions you have.”

Flynn spent the rest of the night in deep conversation.  It was hard to believe that he’d gone from fantasizing about going home to talking to a century-old ghost about his new job as the overseer of death so quickly.  Niren spoke for hours on what his duties were, what powers he had and what the unwritten rules for using those powers were.  Then there was practical advice, like how and when to move on and start over when you’d lived somewhere too long, when it was a good idea to share the truth with humans, or how to deal with inter-Ankou disputes.  He spoke of things he’d learned about life and death and knowledge that had been passed down from one overseer to the next over the centuries.  When dawn finally approached, Flynn actually felt like he was prepared.  He had been given a lot more information than he had before his first battle, at any rate.  

They moved from the interior to the front bench and Niren handed the reins to Flynn.  “It’s your coach now, after all.  You won’t normally be the one escorting the souls onward, but you are certainly capable and can assist the local Ankou if there are a high number of deaths at a time.”

Flynn drove the coach over land.  The wheels didn’t seem bothered by the lack of a road and he steered the horses while Niren gave directions.  It took about twenty minutes to reach their destination: the menhir sticking up from the field not far from Zaphias.  “This is it?”

Niren nodded.  “Every menhir in Brittany marks an entrance to the Otherworld.  Every Ankou takes the souls they collect to the nearest one.”  He hopped off the coach and Flynn followed him.  To the east, the sky was lightening.  

Flynn stood next to Niren before the stone and wondered if a magical portal was going to open.  “What’s on the other side?”

Niren shrugged.  “I don’t know.  No one who’s crossed over has ever come back to tell us.  They used to say it’s the Otherworld, where the faeries dwell.  Or maybe the underworld.  In recent centuries, most people assume it’s Heaven.  I’m looking forward to finding out.”  He stretched his arms and popped his back.  “It’s been a long century.  My wife and kids died a long time ago; I’m looking forward to seeing them again.”  He took his black cloak off and wrapped it around Flynn’s shoulders.  Although he was much taller than Flynn, the cloak somehow fit him perfectly.  Then he took off his broad-brimmed black hat and set it on Flynn’s head.  “There.  These are yours now.  You’re going to do fine.”

Flynn pulled the cloak tighter around himself, suddenly noticing the cold.  He looked down to see footprints in the snow.  He wasn’t just a ghost anymore.

“On December thirty-first, 1699, you’ll know where to go.  I can’t explain how, you’ll just know.  Go there and find your replacement.  Tell him or her everything I told you tonight, and then it will be your turn to pass on.  Good luck.”  Niren gave him a last grin, a nod, and then turned to walk straight into the menhir.  He passed through it as if his body were made of mist, and was gone.  


	8. Rising Water

**Chapter Eight: Rising Water**

"You're dead."

"Yes." Flynn leaned against the battlements of the town wall with his arms folded.

Yuri whistled from his seat in the open space between higher sections of the crenellations. "Gotta admit, that's not what I was expecting."

"What were you expecting?"

Yuri shrugged. "Not that. I thought maybe you were a vampire or something."

Flynn snorted. "A vampire? Don't be ridiculous. They don't exist."

"Says the Grim Reaper." Yuri stretched his arms and looked around after being focused on Flynn telling the story for so long. The beach below had emptied and music drifted up from the town square. Ted must have been taken home, and the revelry could continue. "So that makes you… how old?"

"Technically, I'll turn fifty-four this summer, although I don't really age. I certainly don't feel like a man in his fifties."

Yuri nodded, but still filed this away for later. He enjoyed teasing Raven about being an old man, but he'd found a new prime target. "I still have a lot of questions. Where'd you get all your money?"

"The money isn't magical, if that's what you're wondering." Flynn pushed off from the wall and paced a little to stretch his legs. "Niren's predecessor was a wealthy man who died alone. He buried himself in his back garden, pretended to be alive for a few more years, and then quietly arranged for his wealth to be inherited by a new identity he created on the other side of Brittany, claiming to be his own son. When the time came, he already had the paperwork ready to pass it on to his next 'child', and just filled in Niren's name. Niren did the same for me, and I'll do the same seventy years from now. It is getting more difficult though." Flynn frowned and looked out at the town. "The more society progresses, the harder it is to obfuscate your identity. There are a lot more written records now than when the first man did it. I imagine my successor will struggle with it even more."

"Save him or her the trouble and give all that money to me," Yuri said with a laugh.

"Heh. I'd be more than happy to lend you some."

"Nah, I was kidding. I don't want your charity."

"If you insist. What else can I explain? I can turn invisible if I wear the hat. Rather, I wear the cloak and hat to act in the capacity of an Ankou. At that point, only those on their death-bed can see me. A proper Ankou is intangible and can pass through walls, which makes it easier to reach those that die inside, but I wouldn't trade my physical form for that convenience."

Yuri reached out to knock on Flynn's thigh. "Good call, I like you like this. There's a proper Ankou in Zaphias too, right?"

Flynn nodded. "Yes, her name is Judith. Actually, she used to live in my house."

"Oh, her!" Yuri remembered Judith's death. He hadn't known her very well because she lived with her wealthy father and was a bit of a loner, but they'd spoken a couple of times. He'd known her well enough to be sad when he heard she'd swum out too far and drowned, but not enough to seriously grieve. "She died last November. That's right, and no one else died in Zaphias in December, which Hanks complained about because he gets paid per grave. Well, there were a couple little kids, but I guess they don't count?"

Flynn shook his head. "You have to be grown to the point of maturity to become the Ankou after death. I don't know what the exact cut-off is, but it's past puberty at the lowest. The youngest I've met was sixteen."

"That's good." Yuri had the mental image of a toddler running around with a scythe. "Man. That would be weird if there wasn't an age limit. Hey… wait, was Judith the one who threw snowballs at the kids last winter? And who laughed at me in the graveyard?"

Flynn shrugged. "I didn't hear anything about that, but it sounds like her. When there's no appointment to pick up someone who's died, she keeps watch at the graveyard."

Yuri pouted. "Tell her from me it's rude to laugh at people behind their backs."

"Sure, I'll let her know," Flynn said with a chuckle.

"Anyway, what happened with Ted?"

Flynn looked to the sky with a thoughtful crease in his brow. "Ted was… honestly, I wasn't supposed to do that. Ankous do have some power over life and death." He turned back to face Yuri. "There's nothing we can do once a soul has left the body, but as long as the person still lives, we can channel some of the energy keeping us going into preserving life in others. Niren told me it was only for dire emergencies, though. He only used it once in his whole tenure, in Nantes, to prevent an assassination on Henry IV before he could sign the edict that ended the religious wars. Using it to save a single child like that was very unprofessional of me."

Yuri shrugged. "If it helps, I'm glad you did it."

"Yes… I feel guilty about the fact that I don't feel guilty." He smiled at Yuri. "Today is such a happy day. I couldn't bear to see it ruined by the death a child. Especially since, well…." Flynn shifted uncomfortable and rubbed his arm. "Something bad is coming. This might be the last blissful day Zaphias has in a while."

"Uh… something bad? You wanna expand on that?"

Flynn shook his head. "I really don't know more than that. I knew that Ted was about to drown because I felt it approaching. It's like dropping a pebble in a pond, and small ripples expand in every direction. I felt the ripples of his death before it happened. But right now, I'm feeling bigger ripples. Ripples large and strong enough to extend farther backward in time. The equivalent of dropping a boulder in the pond."

"Someone important is going to die?" Yuri tried to think who would be important enough for this, and wondered if the death of the king might be felt even if he didn't die in Brittany.

"Not necessarily. It could easily just be a lot of deaths."

"Oh. Great. So, uh, what are we supposed to do about this?"

"I don't know. I don't think anything can be done." Flynn turned to face Yuri with a serious expression. "Maybe you should leave town."

"I'm not going anywhere."

"Something terrible is going to happen here. I can't prevent it, but you could leave Zaphias before it happens."

Yuri shook his head. "And leave everyone else? I'm not leaving my friends behind to die, even if I had a place to move to or the money to do so."

Flynn sighed. "You're too noble. But, I suppose if you were willing to leave everyone behind to die, I wouldn't respect you as much."

Yuri swung his legs around and stood. "I don't know what sort of catastrophe your death senses are picking up, but whatever it is, we'll deal with it."

Flynn nodded. "I'll do what I can to protect the people of this town, and I'd be glad to have you at my side."

"You got it. Now, I have to go talk to Raven and see if I can convince him to lie to Alexei." He started toward the stairs back to the road and Flynn followed him. "I assume you don't want Alexei to figure out you're the same guy he murdered thirty years ago."

"Definitely. I had hoped he wouldn't recognize me, and I'm using a different name - Scifo was my mother's maiden name - but it seems Sodia was right. I should have waited for him to die before coming back to Zaphias."

They reached the street again. Yuri asked, "Did you ever come back to Zaphias before this year?"

"Briefly, immediately after I died. I went to see my mother and explain everything. I couldn't stay in Zaphias because of Alexei, so I moved to Saint-Malo with the money Niren left me." Flynn paused and watched children running around the square for a moment. "I wanted to take her with me, but she didn't want to get involved in my new life. I think she might have feared I'd gone mad, raving about ghosts and being immortal and wild accusations against the lord's son. I used to go back to visit her regularly, but then one year I went back…. She'd died in the plague outbreak over the summer, in 1609."

"Huh. My family died in the same outbreak."

They shared a quick look. It was odd to think that despite how different their lives were, they still had such an integral detail the same. They were in the main square near the church now and Yuri spotted Raven drinking with some friends.

"I'm going to go talk to Raven."

"Alright. I need to change my clothes." He'd dried out a bit while talking, but still smelled of seawater.

Flynn left and Yuri hurried over to meet Raven. He grabbed Raven's arm and and said, "C'mon, I need to talk to you."

"Eh, what?" Raven stumbled back and lowered his drink. "I guess I'll catch ya later," he said to his companions and then followed Yuri out of the crowd. When they were safely in a side alley with only rats to overhear, he asked, "You talked ta Flynn, then?"

Yuri nodded. "Yeah. The truth is…." Yuri weighed this for a moment and tried to decide what to say. Flynn clearly didn't want many people to know the truth. "The Flynn here is a Flynn Scifo, Jr., actually. The man you heard about in Rennes and Saint-Malo was his father."

Raven eyed Yuri suspiciously. "That so?"

"Yeah. And, Flynn's father had some… disagreements with Alexei. Disagreements that might make Alexei want to take his frustration out on Flynn if he confirms Flynn is who he thinks he is."

At the very least, Raven believed Yuri was telling the truth about Flynn being in possible danger from Alexei. He nodded while rubbing his chin. "I get it. So you want me ta lie ta my employer? Compromise his trust in me?"

"I'd appreciate it, yeah."

Raven shrugged. "Sure. What he doesn't know can't hurt him, eh?"

"Thanks."

* * *

A few days after May Day, Yuri was making galettes in the kitchen of Ar Kometenn. Repede sat at his side, patiently waiting for scraps. There was a light knock on the door and then Estelle stepped in.

"Hello, Yuri. How are you today?"

"I'm doing better now that the baby has stopped crying." Sometimes he slept in the kitchen of the tavern rather than walk home late at night, but those occasions had become significantly fewer after Padreg was born and started bawling every night. Yuri wished there was a way to get new humans without going through the screaming ball of diapers stage.

"Don't be mean." Estelle pouted as she crossed to the counter. "He's a baby. Sometimes they just cry and it's not their fault."

Yuri cracked an egg into a pan to finish off Flynn's lunch. "You're finished the check-up, then? Are he and Mari healthy and happy?"

"Yes. There's nothing to worry about. Mother and baby are doing just fine."

"Good." Yuri may not be a fan of infants, but Mari was sort of family and that made the little goblin sort of family, too.

"And I checked on Ted this morning and he's also doing fine. There's no sign of any long-term damage from almost drowning, which is really good. Rita said he would have deserved some," she paused to purse her lips, "but I don't think she really meant it, because you know how Rita is."

"Allergic to admitting she cares about people?" Yuri tossed a piece of ham to Repede, who caught it from the air and happily gobbled it up.

Estelle hesitated. "I mean… she's not… maybe a little…. Heh, ok, but she also said she was glad he hadn't actually died and that's very affectionate for Rita."

Yuri whistled with his eyes still on the wiggling egg. "I didn't know she felt that strongly about the kid. What's the status report for the rest of town?"

"Hm? Oh, well the tailor's wife is pregnant again so I checked on her. Mr. and Mrs. Floch are both complaining about headaches and muscle pain but I'm not sure if they caught something or if they're just getting pretty old and still reeling from May Day festivities. I talked to Flynn, too, because I wanted to ask him what he did for Ted and he said it was nothing special and just breathing for him. Also you've never mentioned Flynn's horses but he was out in the stable when I talked to him and they're both very sweet. A weird thing happened, though. As I was leaving, I looked back and the light caught the horse's eye in just the right way to make it look like… like it was on fire or something." She giggled and shrugged. "It was a pretty cool illusion, I think!"

"Huh. Cool." Yuri made a mental note to ask Flynn if his horses were part of the Ankou magic deal. The knowledge that Flynn was inhuman and operated through supernatural forces sat on his tongue, begging to be released. Estelle would be thrilled with the story. Flynn had asked him to keep it secret, though, and he wouldn't betray that trust. The only person he'd told was Repede, and he trusted the dog not to spread it any further. Holding a secret of such magnitude filled him with a sense of importance, even if it was totally unfounded. More importantly, he loved knowing that Flynn trusted him enough to carry that secret.

"I should get going, though," Estelle said. "Will you be here this afternoon?"

"Not for a while. I'm getting more reading lessons from Flynn this afternoon." He used a spatula to move the egg to the top of the ham and cheese galette. "I might see you tonight, though."

"Ok! Have a nice afternoon!"

Yuri met Flynn in the library a little later. Flynn stood next to one of the open windows and let the sun shine on his pensive face.

"What's eating you?"

Flynn shook his head. "I'm just thinking about the future. It's nothing. Good afternoon, by the way."

Yuri pulled up a chair and noticed the black diary sitting a few feet away. Curiosity burned but he swallowed it and forced himself to ask something else. "Hey, are your horses normal?"

Flynn spoke while crossing to join him at the table. "Hm? Why do you ask?"

"Estelle said she saw something weird in one's eye."

"Oh." Flynn frowned. "I didn't realize she saw that. I suppose it's not that big a problem, though. No, they aren't normal horses. I'm not sure how old they are, but they're the same horses Niren used for his entire tenure as the Ankou and he inherited them from his predecessor. At night, their eyes shine with fire and they might kick up sparks if they go too fast. I've never seen grass actually catch from the fire, though, which is good."

Yuri decided he definitely needed to ride with Flynn at night sometime. "Yeah, not causing a wildfire is always a good idea."

"I can do it too, actually."

"What, set things on fire?"

"Ha, no. I mean, I explained that my physical form is illusory, didn't I?"

Yuri nodded. "Yeah…."

"So… ok, this is more apparent in a dark room, but watch."

Flynn bowed his head, covered his face with his hands and took a breath to relax his muscles. When Flynn raised his head and slid his hands away, a grinning skull stared at Yuri with points of fire dancing in hollow sockets. Yuri startled back and almost fell out of his chair. "Jesus Christ!"

"Sorry."

When Yuri glanced back, Flynn's face was as handsome and human as always. "The hell was that?"

Flynn shrugged. "I  _am_  an Ankou. The carvings of the Ankou are always skeletons for a reason. The face you see is an illusion based on what I looked like in life." He saw Yuri's face and said, "I'm sorry, did I disturb you?"

Yuri stared at Flynn's face for a moment, trying to detect a flaw or anything to hint that it wasn't flesh and blood. There was nothing. The idea that the person sitting across from him was actually a skeletal creature with flaming eyes wearing a human suit unnerved him and he wondered if he needed to backup every thought he'd had about being attracted to Flynn. After thinking of it for a little while, he shrugged. "I'm also a meat suit wrapped around a skeleton. My skeleton just usually isn't visible. I'd prefer if you kept yours that way, too, though."

Flynn smiled with relief. "I would be happy to. Now then, are you ready to start your lesson?"

"Sure. What book am I reading today?" He couldn't help glancing at the black-bound book sitting near Flynn's hand.

Flynn caught Yuri staring. "You still want to read my diary?"

Yuri pulled his eyes away. "No, it's alright. You told me a pretty big secret the other day. Can't ask for much more."

Flynn considered for a moment and then said, "I don't mind. The reason I was so defencive of it before is that it reveals far too much information about who and what I am. Here, read some for practice." Flynn opened to a page near the beginning and slid it toward Yuri. "Be delicate, please. The paper is very old."

Yuri eagerly pulled the book closer to himself and leaned over. The writing the book was a lot messier than Flynn's careful hand. It took him a moment to even register that he was looking at words and not random squiggles. Yuri creased his brow and tried to sound it out. "To…day… a ch-child… died. I be.. lie… vee-"

"Believe."

"Ah, thanks. I believe… it was… inannn…inaniti…."

Flynn leaned over to see what word Yuri struggled with and swallowed a bite of his lunch. "Inanition."

Yuri gave him a look. "The heck is that?"

"It's an old-fashioned term for lack of food."

Yuri sighed and leaned back in his chair. "Why didn't you just write starvation, then?"

Flynn delicately took the book back and closed it. "I didn't write it. The overseer in the fourteenth century began this book. That was a page from her journal you were reading. She passed it on to the next and I'm continuing the tradition of keeping a record of significant deaths and happenings."

"So what counts as a significant happening?"

"For example, I wrote about the incident with Ted yesterday. The woman who began the journal, whose name was Khroma, was very interested in medicine and science. She tried to figure out how and why people were dying and after a century of first-hand observation came up with some interesting theories."

"Like what?"

"She proposed miasmas in the fourteenth century, which I think is impressive. Not the exactly terminology, of course, but she didn't believe in humours and believed disease travelled through the air somehow." Flynn frowned and rested a hand on the book. "She tried to save lives by learning about medicine instead of using her power."

"You're not still feeling guilty about the Ted thing, are you?"

Flynn said, "No," but he hesitated too long before saying it to make it stick. Then he shook his head. "I'm glad I saved him. I would do it again if I had the chance. I wish I hadn't had to, though."

"Well, I don't think you have to worry about Ted swimming out too far again. I doubt he wants to go in the water any time soon."

"Good. But here, let me get you something with clearer printing."

They spent the rest of the afternoon in peace. Flynn ate his lunch while Yuri sounded out sentences, correcting him as needed. Yuri had progressed beyond the simplistic hornbook and could read proper books now, though he couldn't say he found an encyclopedia of Breton birds terribly fascinating. Most of the books filling the shelves were in French or Latin, though, and learning to read from a language you didn't understand seemed like hell.

After a few hours, there was a light knock on the library door and Leblanc came in. "Excuse the interruption, sir. A letter has been delivered for you."

"It's fine." Flynn crossed the room to take the folded paper from Leblanc.

Once Leblanc had left, Yuri folded his arms on the table and asked, "So, I suppose he and Sodia know the truth, right? About you being a zombie?"

"Yes, they… a what?" Flynn looked up from the letter.

"You're dead, but you're physically walking around. Sounds like a zombie to me."

Flynn's mouth twisted in a small frown. "I'm not a zombie."

"Sounds like something a zombie would say."

Flynn shook his head dismissively as he unfolded the paper and read the letter. He slowly strolled back to the table and by the time he reached it, his expression was grave.

"Bad news?" Yuri asked.

Flynn stared at the letter for a few more seconds and then set it on the table with worry in his eyes. "Alexei has invited me to dinner."

"Does it say what the occasion is?"

Flynn took a chair across from Yuri. "No, he didn't specify that it's to interrogate me about my past, but one can assume."

Yuri reached across the lunch plates to take the letter. He wasn't sure what he'd find in it that Flynn hadn't already read, but he wanted to see for himself. The letter was short and, as Flynn said, had no details about the purpose of the dinner scheduled for tomorrow night. "You shouldn't go."

"Avoiding him will just make me look more suspicious. You told Raven that the Flynn Scifo in Rennes was my father, correct? I just need to work out my story and stick with that." Flynn nodded to himself as he worked out his plan. "This could be good. I'll have a chance to sit down with Alexei, hear all his accusations, and provide reasonable explanations to put his theories to rest. After all, he can't earnestly be convinced that I'm the same man he killed thirty years ago. He's surely looking for a reason why I'm not."

"Yeah, that makes sense. It'll be fine. Just show up, have a free fancy dinner, explain about your dad and get him off your back."

"Right. It will be fine."

A shatter and shout from the kitchen startled them. Both jumped up and hurried out of the library. When they arrived in the kitchen, they found Sodia crouched on the floor, sweeping up a shattered cup. She straightened up when they arrived.

"Mr. Scifo! I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to alarm you." She spared a quick glare Yuri's way before refocusing on Flynn.

"What happened?" Flynn asked. "You're not hurt, are you?"

"No, I'm fine. Please, it's nothing. I opened a cupboard to put a cup away and a dead rat fell out. It startled me and I dropped the cup. I apologize for breaking it."

Yuri leaned around the counter and spotted the dead rat in question lying near some shards of porcelain. "That's weird. I found a few dead rats in the pantry at Ar Kometenn yesterday." Rats were far from uncommon in Zaphias and Yuri was sure he saw at least a few of them every day. Usually, though, they were scampering out of sight as he approached. He'd seen more rats bodies turn up in the past week than he could ever remember. "I wonder what's killing the rats?" Yuri looked to Flynn who was standing rigid. "Flynn?"

"I'm sorry, Yuri, can we end our lesson here today? I need to do some research and get my story in order before dinner tomorrow."

"Uh, yeah, sure. Good luck with that." Yuri went to pick up the rat to dispose of it for Sodia, but Flynn grabbed his arm.

"Don't touch the rat."

"I'm just going to throw it out."

"I know, and please wear gloves before you touch it. You as well, Sodia. Don't touch rats."

Flynn turned and hurried out of the room. Yuri watched him go, shared a confused glance with Sodia, and then went to find gloves before throwing out the rat.

* * *

Flynn was not in a good mood as sat at Alexei's dinner table. He hadn't had prolonged contact with Alexei since their journey home thirty years ago and he struggled to maintain a friendly attitude while internally his mind kept playing the night of his murder over and over. Flynn had thought he got over that trauma decades ago, but sharing hors d'oeuvres with the man who'd looked him in the eyes and then pushed him into the ravine to bleed out brought it all to the surface. No matter how much he'd thought of Alexei as a friend all those years ago, he now found the man repulsive. Keeping those feelings concealed as he tried to engage in pleasant chitchat was torture.

The dining room itself was much nicer than the company, with wood-panelling reaching to the high ceiling, from which hung a chandelier holding a dozen candles. More candelabras sat on the long oak dining table itself and on the sideboards around the walls. The hearth was empty thanks to the warm spring weather, but the thick red curtains held the scent of smoke from many long winters. Above the hearth hung a family portrait, which Flynn guessed had been commissioned shortly before Alexei left home to join the army. The painting unnerved him. Though he'd never met Alexei's parents, the brother standing beside their mother brought back memories of all the battles he'd followed the man into. The painted Alexei was even worse. The man he sat across from was around fifty years old, with white hair and a lined face. Flynn wasn't sure he'd even recognize him if he didn't know his identity in the first place. The painted youth, however, had the exact face Flynn remembered in his worst nightmares.

"Is something distracting you?" Alexei asked after pausing for a sip of wine.

Flynn tore his eyes from the painting behind Alexei's head once again. "No. I apologize; I've just been admiring your home."

"Yes, it is quite fine, is it not? This chateau has been in my family for generations."

 _And you would have been kicked out to find your own lot in life if your brother were still alive to inherit it_. Flynn met Alexei's eyes evenly. Alexei's brother had cared little for the lives of commoners and saw them as disposable pawns in his aims to rise through the ranks of nobility. Flynn had to agree that Alexei was better for Zaphias than his brother would have been. Alexei had been right, and he had been right that rumours of him playing a hand in his brother's death could have spelled the end for him and caused great turmoil in Zaphias. Flynn knew this, and that was why he had never planned to tell anyone about what happened at the siege. Alexei had killed him to protect a secret that Flynn already planned to keep.

"You seem troubled."

"No, sir." Flynn looked at his plate to hide his expression.

"Where did you grow up, Mr. Scifo? Kemper?"

Flynn had prepared for this. He knew perfectly well that Alexei had sent Raven to spy on him and traced him - or at least his name - back to Saint-Malo. "I was born in Saint-Malo, in fact. My father was a merchant who frequently exported to England. We left when I was young, though, because my mother disagreed with the growing presence of piracy in the city." Flynn's actual father had been poor as dirty and marched off to join the army in his own time to hopefully send money home to his family. He'd died in battle a long way from home, and telling lies about a fictional wealthy father made Flynn feel uneasy.

"You come from a family of wealth, then?" Alexei wasn't even pretending to be interested in his meal as he interrogated Flynn.

"Nothing like this, sir." Flynn gestured to the glittering crystal wine glasses. "We did well enough."

"As one would expect from common birth. What was your father's name?"

"He was also called Flynn. I was named for him."

"I see. Where is your father now?"

He kept staring at Flynn, waiting for his face to show any hint of a lie or nerves. A server came out to take their plates and replace them with new ones.

"He passed away, I'm afraid. He and his business partner had a carriage accident while I was away in the military."

"I'm very sorry to hear that." The new dishes that appeared before them were bowls with a reddish broth and packed with mussels. Alexei glanced at the bowls and then looked up at Flynn with a smile. "I hope you don't mind."

A vision of a long-ago dinner crossed Flynn's mind. A tavern in Nantes, goblets full of red wine that Alexei insisted on keeping full, a bowl of steaming mussels, and a tipsy argument about how nobody born and raised in Brittany could object to mussels as strong as Flynn did. The smell wafting from his bowl made his skin crawl, but Flynn picked up his fork and reached for the first one. "Not at all; they smell delicious." Flynn met Alexei's eyes as he put the first one in his mouth. The foul meat sat at the back of his tongue, polluting his whole mouth with a taste that urged him to vomit. Every impulse wanted to gag but he forced himself to swallow and smile.

"I heard you fought at Genoa a few years ago?"

"That's correct." Flynn had spent most of 1598 in the southeast, so at least he was familiar with the region if not the specific battle he claimed to have fought in. "It was a long siege. I'm disappointed France was unable to hold the city.

"I took part in a siege during my own time in the military." Alexei glanced at Flynn while sucking the meat from a mussel. "Of course, that was many years ago. Before you were even born, I imagine."

"Interesting. Which siege was it?" Flynn continued struggling down the mussels. He'd never been more concerned with concealing his distaste for a meal.

"Amiens. A more favourable victory for France than Genoa. Do you know of it?"

Months of staring at the walls of Amiens day in and day out crossed Flynn's mind. "I know of it, though I've never been to Picardy."

"Beautiful countryside. You should visit some day if you have the chance."

"I'll keep that in mind." He still had half a bowl of mussels to get through.

"You never did tell me what exactly your line of work is."

Flynn let himself think over exactly what to say while he forced down another mussel. After swallowing and washing it down with more wine, he said, "I work in exports. Books, mainly. One aspect that drew me to Zaphias is that Mr. Hermes was selling his house with library included and I knew I could make significant profit."

"Ah, yes, I remember Hermes. Shame about his daughter. How did you hear about the sale of the house? Do you have previous ties to Zaphias?"

Flynn shook his head. "No, this is my first time here. The house was advertised as for sale in Kemper, where I had moved after my mother died in Rennes."

"Really? You seem to be fitting into Zaphias well. And how old are you, exactly?"

"I'm twenty-five." It was true enough. At least, he had been twenty-five when he stopped ageing.

"And when is your date of birth?" Alexei leaned forward, eyes locked on Flynn.

Flynn took a deep breath. As calmly as he could, he said, "With all due respect, my lord, is this a dinner or a job interview?"

Alexei leaned back with a smirk. "Forgive me. It is not often I get to dine with someone new."

Flynn was grateful when the mussels course ended and they moved on to the main course of roasted pork. He never stopped stressing, though. He expected every question to be a trap and had to deliberate every answer to make sure he wasn't contradicting himself. Throughout it all Alexei staring at him, analyzing every crease of his face and twitch of his lips. Flynn couldn't stop wondering if that moment of staring at each other, faces inches apart, moments before Alexei pushed him into the ravine was as emblazoned in Alexei's mind as it was in Flynn's.

At long last, the evening drew to a close and Flynn was able to excuse himself. As they stood in the entrance hall, Alexei shook his hand once more while giving him a last stare-down.

"Thank you for joining me for dinner tonight."

"It was my pleasure. Thank you for inviting me."

Alexei smiled a little. "I'll be sure to invite you again some time. I am a busy man, so it may be a while, but don't worry. I never forget a face."


	9. Preparations

Flynn stretched out on the sand and watched the sunset. He'd had a long day and it was a treat to relax on the beach with his friends. He'd returned from Saint-Malo only this afternoon. Flynn often travelled to nearby towns to check in with the local Ankou and make sure everything was running smoothly, but this had been a more personal trip. His terrible sense of foreboding drove him to prepare for the worst, so he'd gone to the larger city to stock up on things that might help. As far as Yuri knew, it had been just another Ankou business trip. He was hesitant to voice his concerns in case he started a panic over nothing.

A piece of driftwood splashed after Yuri chucked it, and Repede dashed into the waves to retrieve it. Repede ran back to them, dropped it, and shook off the water.

"Ack!" Karol raised his arms and scooted backward. "Repede, not right here!"

Rita laughed from her place of safety on a rock on Yuri's other side. "That's one way to take a shower."

Water dripping from Yuri's face, he picked up the driftwood and threw it back into the ocean. Repede kicked up sand with how fast he turned around and raced after it.

"He's just going to come back and get you guys wet again," Rita said.

"That's alright," Yuri said. "A little water never hurt anyone."

Flynn was just glad he was sitting closer to Rita than Karol. Between them was a blanket with a basket full of crab shells. They'd spent the afternoon's low-tide gathering dinner, and came back to have a picnic on the beach after cooking it. Flynn recalled doing the same thing on the same beach forty years ago. At least now Yuri wasn't confused and frustrated by Flynn's intimate knowledge of all the beach's best hiding spots.

Rita shrugged. "That's not what the doctors say. 'Course, Estelle says she isn't sure and it's not what her grandmother said. Depends on if you trust old midwife traditions or fancy medical degrees more."

"I dunno." Yuri stretched and took the stick from Repede as the dog returned. "I have a theory that this whole thing about needing a layer of grime as a shield so you don't absorb miasma through your skin in a conspiracy by balding old doctors who want everyone to smell as bad as they do with their heads full of bear grease."

Rita snorted and folded her arms. "Could be. Well, I don't care what any medical professionals say. I'll take a bath if and when I want to!"

Karol gave her a look. "Yeah, Rita, we know that. Everyone in town knows when you've been working with sulphur that week."

Rita, too far away from Karol to smack him, just gave him a sneer.

"Where is Estelle, anyway?" Karol asked. "She missed a great dinner."

"She had to tend to some sick people. The Flochs are getting worse, I guess, and she said something about calling on a doctor to make a formal diagnosis. She dashed off without explaining much and seemed pretty stressed. Man, she's always working herself to the bone." Rita couldn't help smiling a little with pride. "She's the best nurse in all of Zaphias."

While the others chatted, Flynn ran his fingers through warm sand. He hadn't talked much through dinner, though Rita and Karol were too busy needling each other that he didn't think they noticed. Only Yuri noticed his mood, but since it was the same ominous melancholy he'd been in since the end of April, Yuri hadn't commented. Yuri was good about that. He seemed to always know what to say, or when not to say anything at all. He held his emotions and affections close to his chest, but anyone could see how he really felt by the way he interacted with others. The adoration the children of his neighbourhood had for him was proof enough of that. When Repede came running back to drop the stick and Yuri pulled him in close to rub their faces together, he showed off his tenderness once again. Flynn didn't often let himself get close with mortals, but he was glad he'd made an exception for Yuri.

Yuri laughed at Repede's eagerness for the stick to be thrown once more and then threw it with all his might. He grinned as it whirled through the air and a breeze came in off the ocean, pushing his hair away from his face. As Repede paddled out for the stick, Yuri shifted his face and caught Flynn staring at him. The light from the setting sun casted his features in a warm glow, but Flynn was pretty sure the way the background blurred behind him was just in his imagination. Many people would consider him quite handsome, Flynn realized, which was followed by the terrifying realizing that he was one of those people. How old was he? Twenty-one? What was a man like Yuri doing without a wife by that age? Here was a handsome young man with decent employment and well-liked by the community. He ought to have no problem at all finding a wife in his quarter of Zaphias. They'd never spoken much about their personal romantic lives, but from the sound of things, that was because Yuri's was as nonexistent as Flynn's. He couldn't help himself from thinking,  _good_.

"What are you staring at?"

Flynn snapped to his senses. "Nothing. I'm just tired from my trip."

Repede came racing out of the foam and dropped the stick on the edge of the blanket. Instead of nudging it toward Yuri, he looked toward the steps to the gate and barked.

Everyone looked over and saw Estelle standing at the entrance, one hand resting on the wall. The wind off the sea flapped her hair and skirt while the the setting sun that had basked Yuri in warmth now illuminated her in ominous red.

"Hey, Estelle!" Karol called.

Rita rose from her rock. "Something's wrong."

For a long moment she just stood there. Flynn's heart throbbed in his throat. The coming wave he'd dreaded for weeks was cresting and as soon as Estelle got the nerve, it would come crashing down on them. Flynn knew exactly why she was standing there and making no movement to come closer even though she'd obviously run out here to find them. He'd been around too much death not to recognize when someone was desperately trying to put off ruining a loved one's happiness with terrible news.

Rita ran across the sand. "Estelle! What happened? Did someone hurt you? Tell me who it was and I'll kick their ass!"

Estelle shook her head and hurried down the steps to meet Rita. She grabbed Rita and pulled her into a tight hug. Flynn couldn't hear what she said to her, but then the two girls returned to the group. Estelle fell to her knees in the sand beside Karol while Rita stood behind her, arms folded.

"Estelle. What's wrong?" Yuri gave her a look of uncommon seriousness.

"It's…." She had to say it in a frightened whisper. "It's plague."

Her words were met with a long silence. Flynn closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Sometimes, he hated being right.

"W-what?" Karol's voice trembled. "Where? Not  _here_?"

Estelle nodded feebly. "I - I thought Mr. and Mrs. Floch had the flu. But then their symptoms got worse and they started having unusual symptoms. I thought it couldn't be plague because they didn't have any buboes, but - but then I remembered my grandmother saying sometimes people get the plague in their blood or their lungs and it looks different. I went to got a doctor to diagnose and he confirmed it and then left quickly. By then, they were both so, so sick…. I stayed with them and - and all I could do was try to make them comfortable before they died." Estelle rubbed her eyes with her wrist. "Then… as I was leaving to fetch to the coroner, Mr. Pichon called me over from next door. H-he wanted my help because his wife isn't feeling well. I looked at her and found a bubo under her arm."

"Th-that's on the other side of town from where we live," Karol said. "And it's only two cases. You caught it already so it will be fine, right?"

"No." Yuri spoke up. He stared at Estelle's tear-streaked face and then looked out to the ocean. "Think about it. May Day was just over a week ago. All those traders came to town. I'd bet anything they brought it with them. They mingled all over town and then moved on and the symptoms in everyone they infected are only now starting to show up."

His words were met with another long silence broken only by the waves sloshing in and out. The silence opened a gulf for the spectre of plague to slide in and join them. Flynn recalled the stained glass windows in the church with images of Death dancing around the living and he prayed that his own presence wasn't a terrible omen that they sat now in the company of Death.

In the midst of their silence, the church bells clanged. Rather than striking the hour, these were the pattern-less tolls that called the parish to mass every Sunday morning.

"A town meeting," Yuri said dully.

Karol was hugging himself and shaking his head. "It's only two cases…. One living patient right now. It can't… I mean it can't really…."

Yuri helped Karol get to his feet. "C'mon. We should all go hear what the priest has to say. Maybe you're right and he's going to tell us not to worry."

He shared a glance with Flynn and in a second confirmed that to be a false hope. Flynn could feel the coming mass deaths like the spray preceding a massive wave.

"It's ok, Estelle." Rita crouched to wrap an arm around Estelle's shoulders. "You did the best you could for the Flochs. If they had septicemic or pneumonic plague like you said, there's nothing you could have done to save them."

Estelle nodded and let Rita pull her to her feet. They group slowly made their way to the gate, Repede's stick left forgotten in the sand.

The rest of the town's residents were already flocking to the church. Most chatted happily with no clue what the impromptu summons was about. Flynn wished he could freeze time somehow and keep all these people from having to learn the awful truth of what now lurked in their town. They crowded into the church, where the murmuring filled the cavernous chamber. Flynn could have slipped to the front and taken a seat with the other wealthier residents of town, but he preferred to stay with his friends and stood in the back.

When all who were going to respond to the summons were settled, Father Duke stepped to the front altar. Magistrate Ragou stood off to the side looking more nervous than Flynn had ever seen him. The assembly fell quiet and looked to Duke with expectation.

"Good evening," Duke began, though his face already foretold that it wasn't. "Thank you for coming. I apologize for the abruptness of the summons, but dire news has reached us that must be disseminated with haste. We are to be tested by the Lord through coming days of darkness and despair: plague is upon us."

A gasp passed through the crowd, followed by a rush of fearful whispers. Duke held up a hand to quiet them once more.

"Two members of our congregation, Mr. and Mrs. Floch, have passed away this evening and there is another confirmed case in town. Furthermore, we have just received word that plague has taken root in Nantes and twenty have died in the past week. It is believed that many other cities across France are experiencing similar outbreaks."

The horror and dread that filled the room was practically tangible. Flynn couldn't stop the guilt of knowing he was immune to illness while looking around the crowd and wondering which of them wouldn't be here come winter.

"Measures are to be put in place," Duke went on. "These orders are out of Paris and are being applied across the kingdom to halt the spread of disease. From today on, public gatherings are prohibited except for weekly mass. All public houses are to remain closed for the duration of the outbreak. Public begging and street entertainment are henceforth prohibited. Cats and dogs within the city limits are to be destroyed."

Flynn glanced to Yuri beside him, who had suddenly clenched his fists. Flynn pictured Repede, who'd contentedly made his way home after the beach, and felt another pang of grief.

"Travel in and out of the city will be strictly monitored. Anyone who develops the following symptoms must immediately report to a watchman: painful swellings in the neck, armpit, or groin area, high fever, severe headaches, muscle pain, or vomiting. Any who show signs of plague will be quarantined within their houses."

His announcement was met with sober quiet. Nobody liked the restrictions, but nobody argued, either. Better to abide by oppressive rules for a few months than die of plague. Flynn was the only one not watching the priest with rapt attention. So few of the health measures would do anything to halt the spread of disease spread by fleas. He stood in the back of the room, fighting the urge to push Duke aside and yell everything he knew about the plague at the gathered crowd. If he thought anyone would believe him, he might have done so. But one man with no medical background yelling about venomous fleas was not going to change the minds of all the physicians who swore by the miasma theory, and losing all traces of his credibility would only make things worse. So he stood back while Duke led them in a prayer and said a silent one of his own, not aimed at any particular god, that he could at least save as many people as he possible.

* * *

 

Yuri met Hanks at their house after the meeting.  Hanks was already seated at the table with Repede napping underneath.  For a long moment, Yuri stood in the doorway and took in the sight.  After a while, he slammed the door and asked, “How bad do you think it will be? I don’t remember the last one.”  All he knew about the last plague outbreak was that it had killed his entire family and that didn’t give him much reassurance for this go-around.

Hanks folded his arms and shook his head.  “Impossible to say.  These things tend to crop up every twenty to thirty years, but they’re always different.  The fact that there are outbreaks all across France, too, though….”  He didn’t have to finish his sentence.  

“Damn.” Yuri threw himself into a chair at the table.  “Damn.”

“Last time, you survived the plague without ever catching it even when your mother and grandparents died of it.  Maybe you have a natural immunity to it.”

Yuri glared at a whorl in the table.  “Yeah, or maybe I shouldn’t expect my luck to hold out twice in a row.”  Besides, it wasn’t himself he was worried about.  The common form of plague killed one in two of people infected, but as a healthy adult, he knew his chances of surviving it were better than others.  What about the very old or very young, like Hanks, Karol, Ted, or Padreg?  What about those that would be spending a lot of time with the sick, like Estelle?  And what about those that had already been condemned to death?

Yuri looked under the table at Repede, who had woken up and was watching them with a tightly flicking tail.  He knew his humans were upset about something.  “They’re going to kill Repede.”

Hanks sighed.  “Yes.  They did it last time, too.  Plague comes from miasma, miasma comes from filth, filth is helped along by dirty animals roaming the streets.  Clean up the streets, clean up the plague.”

Yuri sneered.  “I bet Ragou’s fancy hunting dogs aren’t going to be killed.”

“Of course not.  They’re upper-class dogs.”  Hanks snorted in distaste. “They only want to clear out the gutter dogs who live with gutter families like us.”

Fury bubbled beneath Yuri’s patience.  Enough people he knew were going to die this summer without killing one friend intentionally.  

“I have to go,” Hanks said.  “The Flochs need to be buried right away.”

“Yeah.  I get it.”  Yuri grimly thought that at least Hanks would be making a lot of money digging graves while Yuri was out of work at the tavern.  “I’m going to take care of Repede.”

Hanks gave Repede a long, sorrowful look.  “If you need a gun-”

“No.”  Yuri stood abruptly.  “No one is killing Repede.  Repede, c’mon, we’re going out.”

The dog came out from under the table and looked at him curiously.  Yuri rubbed his head and then went back to the door with Repede at his heels.  The streets were empty even though it was only just after sunset.  Still, he had to move cautiously.  The town was paying a few sous per dog or cat carcass brought to them, and he couldn’t risk anyone seeing Repede and getting ideas.  Repede seemed to sense the importance of their evening walk, because he stuck close to Yuri with hackles raised. The silence of the town unnerved him.  All the empty space and quiet streets felt like empty containers just waiting for plague to sweep in and fill them up.  He imagined plague like a ghost, invisibly drifting through the town in search of its next victims. 

He’d reached Flynn’s street when the distant yowl of a dog stopped him.  Goosebumps ran down his arms as it suddenly stopped.  His fingers curled through Repede’s fur and he took a deep breath to quell his storm of emotions.  Then he thought of the plague in the air and regretted breathing so deep.  It had been about one hour since he got the news that plague was in Zaphias, and already he was rattled.  Yuri hurried down the street and pushed open the gate to Flynn’s house, glancing over his shoulder as Repede walked under his arm and into the garden.  Just being on Flynn’s property brought him some relief.  

Yuri led Repede to the side door and banged on it.  He felt exposed outside, as if someone might pop up in the alley over Flynn’s garden wall and shoot Repede, or, even worse, the spectre of plague would pop out of a bush and infect him.  Leblanc opened the door and Repede pushed past him into the kitchen.  

“Hey.  It’s me.”  

“What are you doing here at this time of night?”

“Sorry.  I need to talk to Flynn.”

It was a good thing Leblanc had answered the door rather than Sodia, because Leblanc actually directed Yuri to the library and got a bowl of water for Repede.  Yuri rubbed Repede’s neck and asked him to stay in the kitchen and then made his way to the library.  As soon as he stepped in, the scent of mint startled him.  Flynn stood at the table before the black journal, with glass bottles and bunches of plants spread out before him.  

“Knock-knock.  Do you have a minute?”

Flynn jumped at Yuri’s voice and looked over his shoulder.  “Oh, Yuri.  What are you doing here?”

“I need your help.”  The library was lit only by a pair of candelabras on the table so he picked up one of the brown glass bottles to make out the label in dim light.  

“Careful.  That’s arsenic.  What help can I do for you?”  

Yuri set it down quickly.  “I was hoping you could harbour Repede.  I can’t keep him on my street; he’ll be killed.  But if he stays on your property, only going into the back garden and stable area, I think he’ll be safe.”

Flynn nodded.  “Yes, I will gladly keep him.  I’m going to need to give him a bath with pennyroyal, though.”

Yuri picked up one of the long stems with a pale purple flower on the end.  “Is that what this is for?  Washing dogs?”

Flynn took the flower from Yuri.  “It’s to keep plague at bay.  It’s passed by fleas.  Pennyroyal is an effective flea deterrent.”

Yuri frowned in confusion.  “Fleas?  What are you talking about?”

Flynn gestured vaguely toward the journal with the flower.  “Since 1348, Ankous have had quite of a lot of data to study the plague.  Khroma, in the fourteenth century, did most of the work.  My predecessors came to the conclusion that the plague is spread by flea bites.”

Yuri absently scratched a flea bite on his wrist.  Fleas were such a fact of life in the more impoverished areas of the city that it had never occurred to him they could be dangerous.  “That doesn’t make sense.  I get bit by fleas all the time, so why is the plague only showing up now?”

“I don’t know.”  Flynn spoke hastily and kept glancing around his table full of flowers and poison.  “Sometimes bites are harmless, sometimes they spread plague.  I think it might be specific types of fleas.  Usually, getting bit by a snake is no big deal, but if it was a black adder, you’ll be poisoned and might die.  So I think maybe certain types of fleas are venomous.”

“If it has nothing to do with miasma, what about other diseases?  Are all diseases spread by poison bugs?”

Flynn shook his head in frustration.  “I’m sorry, I don’t know.  I’m certain some diseases spread through the air, but how that happens… toxic air is as good a guess as any.  Plague, though.”  He gathered up a handful of flowers and tied them together with some twine.  “It’s spread by fleas, and by proxy rats, which bring the fleas.  Rats die from the plague, too - that’s why you’ve been seeing dead rats lately.”

“So you’re going to combat the plague with flowers and poison?”

“Pennyroyal oil to ward off fleas, arsenic to kill rats and keep them from spreading.  My plan is to plant rat poison around the city to try to slow the spread of the plague.  And I want you to smear pennyroyal on your clothes and put the dried leaves in your bed to keep the fleas away.”

“Alright.  I’ll help you distribute the rat poison.  Anything I can do to help, just let me know.”

Flynn smiled for the first time all evening, even if it was tight-lipped.  “Thank you.  I won’t have the poison ready to distribute until tomorrow - I need to mix it with food to get the rats to eat it.  Then get these flowers drying because the leaves are almost as good as the oil.  There’s a lot to do, but I think it could soften the blow of the plague.  I’m going to go get Repede taken care of; wait here a moment, please.”

After Flynn left, Yuri surveyed the table full of plague deterrents and book for three hundred years of experience with epidemics.  In the fight against the plague, he felt like he’d finally been given a weapon.  Flynn had already eased his dread.  

Flynn returned a few minutes later with a bottle of wine and a two glasses.  “Leblanc is taking Repede to the stables.  He’s going to get a bath and pennyroyal oil on his fur to make sure he doesn’t attract fleas, either.  He’s going to be fine.”

Yuri let out a breath in relief.  “Thanks, Flynn.”

“I’m happy to help.  And now, because there’s nothing else we can do for the evening, I thought you might enjoy a glass of wine with me?”

Yuri had never been the biggest fan of wine and always preferred cider or ale, but he took a second to consider the current state of Zaphias and decided there had never been a better night to get drunk.  “I think I’ll take you up on that.”

“Let’s go to the sitting room, then.”

Yuri had never sipped wine in a formal sitting room before, and found he quite enjoyed it.  The blue armchairs were comfortable and there was something to be said about drinking in a room with wallpaper and oil paintings rather than stains of questionable origins on bare wooden walls.  They sat in matching chairs with a small table between them, which held the bottle and their glasses.  

“So I was thinking,” Yuri said after a quick toast with Flynn, “that it seems pretty dumb to keep having mass while the plague is in town.  All public gatherings are forbidden, except for church, when more people than ever are crowded together.”

Flynn shrugged.  “I guess the theory is that plague wouldn’t have the nerve to infect someone right under God’s nose.”

“That’s stupid as hell.  I thought God was everywhere?  Wouldn’t everywhere be right under His nose?”

“Who knows?  Take it up with Duke.”

Yuri scowled at his reflection in the red wine.  “Do you believe in God?”

“Huh?  Why do you ask that?”

“You’re dead.  I figure you’d have a better idea than anyone else.”

Flynn shifted in his seat.  He stared at the bottle of wine while deep in thought and Yuri started to wonder if he shouldn’t have asked.  

“You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.”

“No, it’s ok.”  Flynn put his glass down and finished gathering his thoughts.  “I guess I’m… not sure.  This would kill my mother if she heard me say it, but I don’t think I’m Catholic anymore.  There is nothing in the Bible about Ankous or collecting souls or taking them to menhirs that have existed since before the birth of Christ.  I grew up being told that if I was a good person and followed the Bible, then I would go to Heaven when I died.  Well, I did die, and I didn’t go to Heaven.  I’m off the Christian map.  I can’t consider myself a follower of the Christian church when my own existence proves there’s so much more to the world.”  He paused for a moment.  “But… at the same time, my existence also proves the reality of life after death.  I know that an immortal soul is a real thing, and it goes somewhere after death.  So I suppose you could say I believe in a god, but not exactly the Lord as featured in the Bible.”  When he finished talking, Flynn looked to Yuri.  “What about you?”

Yuri just shrugged.  “No clue, really.  I think I’m in the same boat as you.  I don’t hold much stock in what some dude in Rome has to say about how I run my life, but it’s hard to definitively say there’s no god.”

“That makes sense.”

Yuri swirled the wine around his glass with a dour expression.  “Have to say, though, about now I’d really be glad for some reassurance of what happens after death.”

“I’m afraid I can’t tell you anything past Judith escorting you to the menhir.”

Yuri grunted and took a deep gulp of wine.  

“Hm… you know what the stupidest thing is?” Flynn said.

“Want me to start a list?”

“Ha, no.  I meant about the plague regulations.  They’re killing all the stray cats to try to keep the streets clean.  You know what cats kill?”

The irony of it smacked Yuri across the face as he realized.  “Oh, for fuck’s sake.  The rat population is going to explode with no cats to hunt them.”

“Yeah.”  Flynn took a sip.  “It’s frustrating.”

“Are you going to tell me that we should all be gathering close together in the tavern to prevent plague, too?  Is everything the government commands just going to make things work?”

“No, no, avoiding public places is for the best.  It’s only the cat and dog thing that frustrates me.”

“It’s the mass slaughter of innocent animals for even worse than no reason.  All this blood shed to fix a problem the victims aren’t even causing!  It’s so goddamn stupid.  It’s like picking a scab.”

Flynn sighed.  “Killing animals to stop the plague will cause more plague to appear.”

“It’s bullshit.”

“Yeah.  It is.”

The evening continued for some time.  As the level of wine in the bottle slowly lowered, Yuri stopped feeling so hopeless about the plague.  The pair decided not to keep talking about the plague, because there was sure to be little else on their minds in the coming weeks and for at least one night, they wanted to enjoy themselves.  

As the hour approached midnight, Yuri found himself leaning over the arm of his chair and trying to stop his laughter.  “Did - did I ever tell you about the time I broke into Ragou’s stable?”

“Nope.”  Flynn has pulled his feet up and leaned into a corner of the chair.  “Why’d you do that?”

“’Cause the bastard wasn’t feeding his damn horse.”

“The bastard!” Flynn enthusiastically agreed.

“So I hopped the fence and found the hay.  He was giving the poor thing barely enough to live on per day to cut costs.”

“If anyone treated my horses like that, I would punch them,” Flynn declared.  He rubbed his chin and lifted his gaze.  “Although, I’m pretty sure my horses are immortal.”

“Punch them anyway.”

Flynn couldn’t help giggling.  “Yeah!  For the principle of the thing, of course.  So you fed Ragou’s horse, then?”

“Oh, yeah, definitely.  I filled its trough with as much hay as it cold hood.”  Yuri laughed at himself and rubbed his eyes.  “Could hold, I mean.”

“Nice.”

“Yeah, so anyway, then it was time to skedaddle.  His footmen noticed me in the stable and came running.”

“You made it out though, right?”

“Ehhhh.  Not exactly.  But!  I got an awesome scar out of it.”

“Oh, yeah?  Where?”

Yuri was about to explain, but then figured he could demonstrate just as easily.  In a flash, he’d torn off his shirt and tossed it aside.  “Check it out.”  He twisted to the side to show off his hip.

“Jesus, it looks like you got clawed by some sort of monster.”  Flynn reached between the chairs to run his fingers of the parallel lines slashing across Yuri’s hip.  “How’d that happen?”

“Ragou’s property is walled in, and the walls have spikes on top.”  Yuri ran his thumb over one of the old scars.  “I tried to vault over, one of the footmen caught my ankle, etcetera, etcetera, slashed open my hip.  Then the bastard locked me up in the pillory all day the next day so it was almost a full day before Estelle got a chance to look at it and try to treat the cut.”

“The bastard.”

“Being in the pillory sucks ass, though.  Have you ever been in a pillory?”

Flynn snorted.  “Do I look like someone who’s ever been pilloried?”

Yuri laughed again and wondered why he’d even thought to ask that of uptight, proper Flynn.  

“Actually….”  Flynn grabbed the wine bottle and sloppily poured more into his glass and then finished it off in Yuri’s.  “I  _have_.”

Yuri jerked his head up quick enough that the room spun.  “What?  No way.  Who had the guts to pillory the god of death?”

Flynn laughed and took another gulp.  “It was before that.  Before the army.  When I was a teenager.”

“What did you do?”

“That’s a secret.”

“Flynn!  You gotta tell me!”

“Nope.”

“I’m dying here.”  Yuri thrust his arm forward and managed to land it on Flynn’s shoulder.  “I need to know.”

“Get used to disappointment. But, hey, you wanna see my scars?  I have some interesting ones.”

“Hell yeah.”

It took Flynn longer to take his shirt off, because he wore more layers and had more buttons.  His shaking fingers fumbled and struggled with each button and Yuri resisted the urge to lean over and help him, both because that seemed too forward and because he doubted his coordination was any more efficient.  Finally, Flynn managed to struggle out of his shirt and tossed it to the floor.  Yuri spotted a scar immediately: a huge patch of rough skin on his right chest, with an inch-wide circle indentation in the middle.  

Flynn saw Yuri staring and pressed a hand over it.  “Where I got shot.”

“Figured.”

Then he ran his hand to his bicep and pointed out a smooth white line.  “Where I almost got stabbed by a pike.”

Flynn took a few minutes to point out his other scars, all with their own battle stories.  Every scar was a souvenir of the places he’d been and Yuri felt like a stupid peasant who’d never left his hometown.  He enjoyed Flynn’s stories, though, especially because Flynn rarely spoke of his time in the army and alcohol had loosened his tongue.  Yuri lived vicariously through Flynn’s tales of battle and for his part, Flynn seemed genuinely interested in Yuri’s life in Zaphias.  

At the end of the night, when there were two empty bottles of wine on the table and two empty empty glasses on the rug, Yuri and Flynn lay side by side on the floor.  Neither of them had bothered putting their shirts back on and both intended to stay right where they were until they could sit upright without getting dizzy.  

“Hey… Flynn… thanks.”

“Eh?”

“S’been a good night.”

“Mmmm.”

“Funny how… like… gettin’ drunk can make impenden- impenda- immmpending doom seem not so god awful.”

“Yeah.”

Yuri stared at the floral pattern carved into the crown moulding and wondered if it was really moving or if it was just his eyes.  “’F’I’m gonna die this summer… ‘m glad I gotta meet’cha first. Almost makes it word-wheel… worthwhile.”

“Uh-huh.”

“You gonna say an’thing?”

“… ‘M gonna pass out.”

Yuri gave a great yawn.  “Right there with you.”


	10. Lock Down

The day after the plague was announced, Yuri woke up on Flynn's floor, wearily re-dressed himself, and made his way home. It was an odd feeling to not head to the kitchen at Ar Kometenn, and instead he spent the morning sleeping off his headache. After that, Yuri didn't have much to do. He'd worked at Ar Kometenn for so much of his life that he barely knew what to do with this much free time. He still went there three times a day for Flynn's meals, which Mr. Lagadeg was desperate to keep up since it was now his only source of revenue. Yuri helped out around Zaphias where he could by grabbing a broom and aiding in the street cleanup. He joined Flynn in mixing arsenic with bits of bread and then leaving the bait in any pantry or cellar they had access to.

One of those cellars was Karol's. On a day when the Capel family was at church (people were spending a lot of time praying at church these days) Yuri let himself in to set the bait. He didn't want to argue with Karol's parents over the necessity of killing rats. In the pantry, he carefully placed a cube of arsenic-soaked bread in the back corner behind a sack of flour. He had worried the first day about stray cats eating the bait, but after a few days, he stopped seeing stray cats around town. At least he wouldn't have to worry about them getting the arsenic, he told himself to stop thinking about the lines of people he'd seen carrying animal corpses to the city hall to get their payment. At the very least, Repede was safe and sound at Flynn's house and seemed to be getting along well with Flynn's horses.

With the poison set, Yuri left the house. That was when a neighbour sitting in front of his house called out, "What were you doing in there?"

Yuri turned around. "Dropping something off. Why?"

The old man narrowed his eyes at him. "I didn't see you take anything in."

"It was in my pocket. The Capels know me; I'm not a thief." He held out his hands to show they were empty.

"Yeah, I know who you are. That orphan kid who helps out at Ar Kometenn. What were you dropping off?"

Yuri rolled his eyes. "A cool rock I thought Karol would like. What's with the interrogation?"

"Hmm." The old man kept glaring at Yuri suspiciously, but Yuri decided he was tired of this and walked away.

He supposed he couldn't blame the old man too harshly. Everyone was under a lot of stress lately. There had been five more confirmed cases of plague in town, so far localized to the east side but everyone knew it would make its way to them in the west soon enough. Yuri had been using some of his newfound free time to help Estelle with her daily chores, because she was out of the house almost constantly to tend to the sick.

When he arrived back at home, he found Hanks on his way out.

"Yuri! Excellent. Grab a shovel; I could use your hand."

Yuri's heart thudded. "Another death?"

"Not yet, but the magistrate wants the plague put from last time dug up to get ready for this wave."

Yuri nodded and went inside to get a shovel. He helped Hanks at the graveyard when he had time and usually didn't mind the work. This time, his chest felt tight all the way down the road. The thought of digging a mass grave and leaving it open, waiting to be filled, seemed an ill omen. When they arrived and walked toward the calvary in the middle that marked the plague pit, he looking up at the carved skeleton at the base of the pole. It was supposed to be the Ankou, though it was hard to imagine Flynn in its place.

"What will happen to the bodies here already?" Yuri asked.

"Oh, they'll be moved to the crypt, I assume. Still hollowed ground, of course."

"Guess that's the best we can ask for." It was a simple fact that there was not enough space in the graveyard for every impoverished peasant to have an individual, permanent resting spot. Everyone knew that when their loved ones were put into the earth, they would eventually be dug up and moved to an ossuary to make space for the next generation. Still, it wasn't a pleasant task to actually do the digging up.

With a sigh, Yuri drove his shovel into the ground. It was good that plague was a summer disease and usually died out by winter, because at least the ground wasn't frozen when they needed to dig so much. The plan was to dig down six feet, and then start expanding to the right to slowly open up the long trench and take out bodies as they went. It would likely take a few days to finish, which would be just in time for the people currently infected with the plague to need the space. They dug without speaking. Such a grim task didn't call for idle chatter. Normally, there would be sounds of life from the streets around the graveyard, but the fear of plague cast a hush over the town. After an hour of shovelling, Yuri's muscles began to ache. He didn't mind, though; the physical pain was a nice distraction from everything else going on in his head. He focused only on the strain in his back and the ache in his arms, vision narrowing only to the single shovelfuls of dirt he brought up and tossed aside. He fell into a pattern and was able to stop consciously thinking about that fact that he was digging a mass grave.

Then he hit a skull and the knowledge suddenly rushed back into him. He stopped, dirt still sitting on his shovel as he stared at the yellowed bone he'd just exposed. Scraps of hair still clung to the scalp.

"You alright?" Hanks asked from a few feet away. They both stood at the bottom of a pit about five feet deep.

"We're about deep enough." Yuri threw the dirt up and over the edge.

Hanks looked over. "Ah. I see."

Yuri carefully scraped away more dirt around the skull. Scraps of decaying fabric from the burial shroud fell away with the blade of the shovel; there was no time nor money for coffins. Yuri exposed the face of the skull and for a long moment he stared into the empty sockets. "Hey… do you think you would recognize your wife if you only saw her skeleton?"

Hanks seemed startled by this question, but after a moment of thought, he understood what Yuri was really asking. "I don't think that's your mother."

"Probably not. This is the edge of the pit; she'd be more in the middle." He turned his head to the side and imagined all the bodies placed neatly side by side in a row, then stacked on top of each other with only a thin layer of dirt separating them. Somewhere in this mass of corpses were his mother and grandparents. He wondered if he hoped to recognize his mother when he found her, or if he hoped not to.

"If this is too difficult for you-"

"No." He wasn't going to let Hanks do all the work himself. Yuri stuck his shovel down and began digging. There were dozens of skeletons down here; he couldn't shirk the work just because a couple of them were related to him.

After a minute of silent digging, Hanks said, "I did tell you I'm leaving everything to you, didn't I?"

"Huh? What are you talking about now?"

"When I die. The house and my possessions. I know it isn't much, but it's yours. You're as good as a son to me."

Yuri had to pause for a moment, which gave aches a chance to settle in and expand in his arms. Hanks wasn't his father and Yuri had always known that he was just a kind man who gave an orphan a place to live when no one else would. The idea that Hanks wanted Yuri to inherit everything he owned, little as it may be, rather than tracking down some nephew or cousin in surrounding towns filled him with a wave of appreciation and affection. He'd even go as far as thinking the word 'love', but wasn't experienced enough with the word to dare say it. "Well… thanks." He wanted to say that Hanks was as good as a father to him, but the words of genuine affection stuck in his throat. He coughed a little and said, "Not something we have to worry about right now, though."

"Oh, I don't expect to live out the rest of the year." Hanks continued idly shovelling as he said that.

Yuri drove his shovel into the dirt. "What are you talking about?"

Hanks glanced up, surprised Yuri was so shocked at his words. "I'm an old man. I'm not as strong or healthy as I used to be, and I already used up my luck surviving the last bout. This is my own grave I'm digging, I'm sure."

"What kind of depressing idea is that? Are you  _planning_  to die? What the hell?"

Hanks gave Yuri a fond little smile. "Ah, Yuri, I always loved how fired up you get about things like this. You've never been one to accept unfortunate circumstances without a fight."

"Yeah, and I don't want to hear you talking about giving in without a fight, either!"

"It isn't about not fighting. It's about being realistic about your chances of surviving that fight. And when you get to be my age, the prospect of wrapping up your life isn't so bad. It'll be nice to see my wife again."

Yuri's grip on the shovel tightened. Hanks had a lot of nerve to causally tell Yuri he saw him as blood-family and then immediately after drop the factoid that he was probably going to die soon. Yuri had been giving a father and then had him ripped away within the span of a conversation and he was still reeling from it. "Alright… alright, you be depressing if you want, just promise me you'll fight to the end and at least  _to_  survive."

Hanks smiled and nodded. "That's a promise."

* * *

It was midnight almost a week after the plague had been announced. Flynn sat on the edge of his bed and stared at the moon through his window. A piece of knowledge dropped into his brain like a raindrop:  _you have an appointment_. He had never put too much thought into how exactly he knew when and where people were going to die. The knowledge just came to him with a few minutes of advanced warning. The closer he was to the deceased, the more noticeable the alert. Every death across the rest of Brittany dimly flickered in the background of his mind, unnoticeable unless he concentrated, like a sprinkling of rain heard through a window.

This one stuck out to him because there had been another, only fifteen minutes earlier, on the other side of town. Judith had gone to get that one, and he assumed she was still busy picking the person up. People could wait, of course, but making a freshly-dead soul sit and wait at the side of their corpse, possibly with weeping loved ones all around, was cruel. Every time he visited a parish to check in with the local Ankou, he impressed upon them how important it was to get to the scene of a death as quickly as possible. If Judith was already engaged at the moment, he could handle this one himself.

Flynn dressed quickly and then grabbed the hat and cloak hanging at the back of his wardrobe. He made his way downstairs quietly, hoping not to wake Sodia or Leblanc. Either of them would leap out of bed to assist him and he didn't want them to lose sleep over something he could handle himself. On his way to the back door, his foot kicked a warm, furry mass which startled him so much he smothered a shout and stumbled backward.

Repede growled and raised his head.

"Sorry," Flynn whispered, crouching to pet his head. "I forgot you were here." He wondered if Repede forgave him yet for the bath. The dog was probably unaccustomed to smelling like mint more than dirt.

Repede huffed and lowered his head. He'd finally settled at Flynn's house, though perked up considerably every time Yuri arrived to deliver food.

Flynn made it out the back door without waking anyone else up. Outside, crickets chirped in the warm night. Flynn set the hat on his head and pulled the brim low, and then clasped the black cloak around his shoulders. He felt the familiar buzz of power rush through him and tingle with warmth in his fingers. He didn't feel any different, but knew that he was now invisible to all but the dead.

Ten minutes later, he was driving his coach out of the side gate and to the street. The gate opened before him with a flick of his wrist and the black coach silently rolled onto the street. His horses clopped along, pleased to be out on a job again. He drove past silent houses shut tight as if a locked door could keep out the plague. Even if others were on the street, though, they wouldn't have seen him. As human as he generally was, he did have powers of his own.

Flynn stopped in front of a narrow half-timber house not far from the beach. He climbed to the street and approached the door, where he was met by a heavy iron lock and a red cross sloppily painted on the door. This was where Judith had the advantage, because reached the dead inside buildings was much more difficult if you couldn't walk through walls. He considered the lock for a moment and wished that society had never progressed past bronze, because his magic was ineffective against iron.

A snore from his right made him flinch. Not far from the door sat a man dozing on a stool, arms crossed and chin on his chest. He would be the volunteer watchmen to make sure the residents of this house didn't break quarantine, but apparently he didn't take his job that seriously. Flynn approached slowly, even though he knew he was imperceptible to mortals at the moment. A ring of keys hung from the man's belt, which Flynn gently took for himself. The slumbering watchman shifted, but didn't wake up.

"Forgive the theft. I'll give these back."

He stuck the key in the padlock and the chains across the door fell away. Flynn pushed the door open as quietly as he could, but doubted anyone alive was awake inside due to the darkness. "Hello?"

"Who's there?" came a woman's voice.

Flynn made his way toward it. He found the woman kneeling on the floor next to a body lying on a pile of blankets by the hearth. Embers still glowed, giving just enough light make out her face and scraggly white hair but not much more. Flynn was grateful for this, because he didn't want a close look at her. "Hello. Don't be alarmed. I'm here to escort you out of here."

The woman sighed. "I am dead, then?"

Flynn nodded. "I'm afraid so."

"Damn." Snore from across the room drew her attention and she looked toward a man sleeping in bed. "I was really hoping I'd outlive that son of a bitch." She rose to her feet and inspected Flynn's face. "Say, aren't you that Mr. Scifo? The baby-faced rich chap who gave away all that wine at Epiphany?"

"B-baby faced?" Blood rushed to his cheeks.

"Never expected you to be the Ankou. Well, then." She looked down at her body with distaste. "I guess that's that, then. I had a good run of it."

"Uh… I'm glad you're able to approach this with such a positive outlook." It certainly made his job easier.

The old woman shrugged and strode toward her sleeping husband. "I've had a few days to come to terms with it, since I got sick." She put her fists on her hips and looked down at the man. "At least I'm finally free of this lout. Lazy bastard, and snores too! Time for you to learn to wash your own socks, you hear?"

The man startled and blinked, looking around in confusion.

"Please." Flynn hurried over to her. "There's no need to antagonize him now." Both of them were imperceptible to the living, but sometimes Flynn wondered. Every now and then, a living person might look in his direction for a few too many seconds, or frown as if they thought they'd seen something. The woman's husband was now staring in their direction with eyebrows knitted, and Flynn hurried the woman out, just in case. He wasn't too worried though; at worst, the man would think he'd had a strange dream.

On the street, Flynn opened the coach door for the woman. "Step in here, please, ma'am."

"Where are we off to, then? Do I get a choice? Can it be a bar? Oh, I haven't had a good drink in ages."

"Ah… I'm sorry, ma'am, all bars in Zaphias are closed. I'm taking you to… heaven." It was the simplest explanation.

"Pity. What about the beach? Can I see the ocean one more time? Always did love the view of the sea. Best part of living here, if you ask me."

Flynn smiled a little. "Yes. I would be happy to take a detour along the coast."

"Lovely. I always knew you were a nice boy."

She took his outstretched hand and he helped her step up into the coach. Flynn shut the door for her, and then turned around to replace the lock on the door. Then he returned the key, climbed onto the driver's seat, and directed his horses to the north gate. The menhir was inland, but a scenic ride along the coast would be good for both of their spirits.

* * *

The next morning, Flynn awoke to a wet nose in his face and a whine. He startled awake and scrambled back in the covers, only to realize it was Repede. The dog had his chin on the bed and whined again, tail wagging expectantly.

Flynn yawned and rubbed his head. "What do you want?" Daylight shone through his curtains, so it was time to get up anyway. He'd overslept after being out so late last night. With another yawn, he crawled out of bed and didn't bother changing out of his nightshirt before going down to breakfast. Repede followed close behind, clearly wanting something. He might be hungry, but Yuri always fed him when he came by with breakfast.

Flynn entered the dining room and found the table empty. Repede whined again and Flynn distractedly stroked his head while staring in sleepy confusion. There was always breakfast waiting for him, ever since he arrived in Zaphias and made the arrangement with Ar Kometenn. Yuri had never been late.

"Leblanc?!"

Footsteps from the living room heralded the man's arrival. "Yes, sir?"

"Has Yuri been here?"

Leblanc glanced at the empty table. "Ah… no, sir. He hadn't been in today. Would you like me to go to Ar Kometenn and pick up your breakfast?"

Panic ignited. Where was Yuri? What could have kept him? An image of Yuri lying in bed, desperately ill, swam through his mind. No, no, no…. He'd given Yuri more tools to avoid the plague than anyone else in Zaphias; he  _couldn't_  have caught it. "No. I'll go myself. Repede hasn't been fed, though; please tend to that."

Flynn hurried out of his house. Yuri…. His heart thudded all the way to Yuri's house. When he rounded the corner to Yuri's street, he breathed a sigh of relief that he didn't see a red cross painted on the door. If Yuri was sick, it wasn't serious enough that it had been reported to the watchmen. He wouldn't be satisfied until he saw Yuri himself, and so banged on the door a little more impatiently than he'd intended.

Hanks came to the door a few seconds later. "Oh, good morning. Are you looking for Yuri?"

His muscles un-tensed. "Yes. He's not here, then?"

"He went to dig clams during the morning low tide. I think I heard him say something about 'Mr. Fancy Pants can wait an hour for breakfast' on the way out."

Flynn was so relieved that Yuri wasn't dying, he didn't even take offence to 'Mr. Fancy Pants'. "Thank you for telling me."

Flynn walked back to his house at a much slower pace. Considering what time he'd woken up, he assumed Yuri must already be on his way to deliver breakfast, if he hadn't arrived already. On the way back, he let himself consider the horrible, gut-wrenching despair he'd felt while he thought Yuri might be dying. Every year, he befriended at least one or two of the Ankous he worked with, and every year he had to say goodbye to them as they moved on. He was always sad to see them go, but the loss of a friend had never affected him as much as this. The idea of Yuri dying was too horrible to bear and he marvelled at what a close friendship they had built.

When he reached his house, he found Repede happily napping in the kitchen and a platter of food on the dining room table. Yuri's old wax tablet sat next to the plate and Flynn smiled as he read it. Yuri's writing was getting better, although he clearly still struggled with spelling.

_Sorry I'm late today. Had too get klams for supper. Leblanc sed you went owt looking for me? Didn't no you wer starving. Payshens!_

Flynn used the candle on the table to erase the message and then ate his breakfast while waiting for the wax to solidify again. When he'd finished eating, he wrote his reply.

_I'm sorry I missed you earlier. It wasn't out of hunger that I went to find you. I had a horrible fear that you had contracted the plague and were sick in bed, so I went to your house to enquire after your health._

He left his reply next to the empty dishes and then set out again, this time to find Judith and speak with her about how they would handle the influx of deaths. Tomorrow, he would leave Zaphias to visit other cities across Brittany also stricken by the plague, to give the local Ankous support and advice.

After crossing the main square, he turned toward the graveyard gate and startled backward when he came face-to-face with a small, bird-faced demon. "Jesus!"

Flynn's heart was still pounding when Rita ripped the mask off her face. "What, scared by a costume?"

Flynn let out a deep breath and shook his head. "I apologize. You startled me, that's all."

Rita looked at the leather mask in her hands. It had a long, curved beak and round, glass eyeholes. "Ha. It is pretty freaky, isn't it?" Rita still wore the rest of the plague doctor ensemble: black robe, brimmed hat, and scarf around her chin to cover any skin exposed by the mask.

"Certainly surprising if you're not expecting to see it coming toward you. Why are you dressed like that, though? You aren't a doctor."

Rita scowled in disgust. "I'm the best thing Zaphias has right now. All the actual doctors fled town."

"They  _what_?" Flynn wasn't sure if he was more angry or worried. "But this is when Zaphias needs them the most."

Rita shrugged. "Yeah, but they might actually get sick, too, if they stay here, so off they went. Anyone rich enough to have access to a house in the country is gone. You might be the richest man in town now."

Flynn wasn't surprised, but he was disappointed. He had seen some of the wealthier residents leaving in the past few days, always with carts piled high with possessions and cloths wrapped around their faces to keep out the miasma. They gave people on the street worried looks, as if plague radiated off the poor. He thought at least some of the doctors would have stayed, out of a sense of duty or at least bravery.

"How much longer are you going to stay?" Rita asked.

Flynn straightened his back. "I'm not leaving. I'll be staying in Zaphias for the duration."

"Are you suicidal or something? If I had the money to go somewhere else, I'd be out of here."

"Really? Would you take Estelle with you?"

Rita stiffened at the mention of Estelle. "W-well, no, she would never willingly leave when people need her help. That's part of what makes her so great! And I wouldn't leave without her, so…."

Flynn smiled a little and nodded. "I feel the same way about… all my friends here."

Rita scowled from being caught expressing affection and shifted the mask under her arm. "Anyway, I need to get going. Mr. Kivijer isn't feeling well and I need to go confirm if it's plague or just a normal fever." Her expression clearly showed what she expected to find.

"Good luck." The words sounded hollow even to him.

Rita left and Flynn continued on his way to the graveyard. He'd had a small peak of happiness when he knew that Yuri wasn't sick, but running into Rita and ghastly work brought him back to a miserable valley. Maybe Yuri wasn't going to die, but a lot of other people were.

Walking into a graveyard did little to lighten his mood. He spotted Judith sitting on a gravestone near the calvary in the centre and made his way to her side. For a long moment, she gazing into the open pit Yuri and Hanks had dug. All the old skeletons had since been moved into the crypt below the church, but the pit wasn't empty. The edges of the burial shroud poked out from the thin layer of dirt heaped around what he knew must be the body of the woman he'd met the night before. It seemed cruel to leave her so shoddily buried, but the pit would fill up soon enough, just in time to start a new layer of bodies on top.

"All these people are going to die."

Judith's sudden words startled him. "Not all. Probably not even most."

"Enough." She took a deep breath and swivelled so she could face him. "My father survived the last plague about twenty years ago. He showed me the scar under his arm. I wonder if surviving it once means he's less likely to die from it this time around, or if it means he's already weakened by it."

"I couldn't say. I'm sorry. He moved to Kemper, didn't he?"

Judith nodded. "Yes, shortly after I died."

"I'm leaving tomorrow to visit other towns. When I pass through Kemper, I'll ask the local Ankou to keep me posted about his health."

"Thank you. It's the not knowing if he's sick or not that's the most frustrating. When do you expect to be back?"

Flynn thought for a moment. "Possibly… a few weeks. I want to visit as many towns and villages in Brittany as possible. Will you be able to handle everything here by yourself?"

"Yes, I think so. Everyone else is working alone, after all. I'll keep tabs on your friends here while you're gone, especially Yuri."

This caused Flynn to flinch like he'd been called out. "W-why especially him?"

Judith cocked her head and raised her eyebrows. "Well… you're in love with him, aren't you?"

Flynn suddenly fought the urge to choke. "I beg your pardon? Yuri is - I mean, I care about him, and we're good friends, but we're just… I don't…."

"Oh? I'm sorry, I must have misinterpreted."

Flynn wondered when the sun had come out to make his face feel this warm. "I don't have any romantic feelings for Yuri."

"Of course not. I shouldn't have presumed."

Her teasing expression irritated him. He was telling the truth, dammit! He shook his head and dismissed the conversation. "Anyway. About plans for while I'm gone…."

Later that day, Yuri dropped off lunch. Before he started eating, he opened the wax tablet and smiled when he found a response from Yuri:

_Don't worry abowt me. I promiss I havn't gone to the grave yet. I'm still here (unlucky for you ha!)_

* * *

 

Yuri stood in the stable with Flynn the next day. He absently stroked the horse named Marc'h while Flynn dragged his trunk to the open coach door. Upon seeing Flynn struggle with it, Yuri quickly left to grab the other end of it and lift. "Don't throw your back out before your big trip."

"I had it."

"Sure you did." Leblanc ought to be helping, but he'd gone out to pick up last minute food for the trip. Yuri didn't mind, though; he was more than happy to spend these last few minutes with Flynn before he left for over a month.

Yuri backed toward the coach with one end of the trunk, but just as he was about to turn and step up to guide it in, Flynn jerked the trunk toward himself and said, "Stop!"

"Eh? What now?"

"Don't get into the coach."

Yuri stomped on the dirt floor. "It's fine; I swear I haven't stepped in anything." It would be hard to step in anything these days, since the streets were kept immaculately clean. It made the town smell a lot better than it usually did, which was one tiny silver lining to the plague.

"No, it's not that. If you get into the coach, you'll die."

Yuri let the trunk drop and then turned to peer into the dark inside of the coach. "Uh… are you serious?"

Flynn also let the trunk drop and grabbed Yuri's arm, inserting himself between Yuri and the doorway. "I'm entirely serious."

Yuri recalled the iron grip Flynn had grabbed him with the day they met, when Yuri had been about to open the coach door. Flynn hadn't been trying to keep a secret from Yuri; he'd been trying to protect him. "Ok, I believe you, but how exactly would this coach kill me?"

"This is the coach used to transport souls to the next world. Only the dead can ride within it. That's why Sodia and Leblanc always sit on the outside benches. If you tried to step inside, your soul would climb in, but your body would be left behind."

Yuri shivered and edged away from the doorway. "Duly noted. You do the backing in."

They swapped positions and Flynn hopped into his death-mobile to ease the trunk in. He had just hopped down after a job well done when the stable door opened and Leblanc entered.

"Bad news, sir. It doesn't look like you're getting out today."

Flynn's forehead creased. "Why not?"

"They're closing all the town gates and the royal army is here to enforce a quarantine."

"Oh, no," Flynn muttered.

Yuri preferred a more emotional, "Oh, come on!" Zaphias had enough to deal with and the rotten army was here to make everything worse. He didn't bother saying goodbye to Flynn before hurrying past Leblanc, out of the stable, and onward to the main gate. It was just as well he didn't say goodbye, because Flynn rushed after him.

As soon as they reached the square, they knew where to go. The main street leading from the square to the main gate was packed with angry, shouting people. Yuri and Flynn edged along the side of the crowd and forced their way to the front. Yuri squeezed past a fat man and ducked around elbows, and wondered if this crowd violated the rules against large assemblies of people. Near the main gate, Flynn climbed onto a barrel sitting against the wall and gave Yuri a hand to climb up with him. From there, they had a view of soldiers barring the main gate, pikes out and ready. Behind them, on the road just beyond the gate tower, stood Ragou with his hands folded behind his back.

"Settle down, settle down," Ragou was saying. "This is all perfectly legal and mandated by His Majesty Louis XIII."

A woman from the crowd shouted, "You can't lock us in here!"

"It is by order of the king," Ragou said. "All towns infected with the plague are to be quarantined until there are no more cases of plague and it has been two weeks since the last infection. The royal army will be here to enforce plague orders, under command of Capitaine Barbos." Ragou gestured to a stout, grey-haired man standing at the end of the row of soldiers. He stood with his arms crossed and glared at the crowd. "There is nothing to worry about. The quarantine will keep any infected people from entering the town and bringing fresh infection. It's for your own good."

Yuri couldn't stop himself from shouting, "If everything is all hunky-dory in here, why don't you come in with us?"

Ragou glanced at him and then completely ignored the question. "This will all be over soon and then we can all happily go back to our lives. Close the gates, please."

Voices of fear and anger rose up as soldiers outside swung the heavy oak doors shut. Their thud resonated through the crowd, who kept shouting and began pushing forward. The soldiers on this side of the gate pointed their pikes at the crowd and warded them off.

"Listen up!" Barbos's gravelly voice rose of the din. "I've got orders from the king to enforce the plague rules however I need to. Anyone who tries to break quarantine will be shot on sight. My troops'll be patrolling the perimeter and taking over guard duty for locked-up houses. Until you lot stop being sick, my word is law. You got that?"

The overlapping shouts of anger implied that they did get that, but they didn't like it. Yuri didn't have to see any more. He hopped down from the barrel with Flynn right behind him. "This is going to get bad."

"I know. I'm willing to bet they closed the north gate, too. The one to the beach."

"Half the town depends on fishing and tidepooling to eat."

"They won't let us starve. If necessary, some form of food delivery will be arranged - like how nurses bring food to those locked in their houses."

Yuri stared across the sea of heads at Barbos, who was still yelling at the crowd. "That's rather optimistic of you. I guess you're not leaving for your plague tour of Brittany, are you?"

Flynn shook his head with a frown. "No. Judith can pass through walls, but my cart and I are stubbornly corporeal. But it's ok. We'll make do."

"We'll have to." They began the walk back to Flynn's house. Yuri had had no plans to leave Zaphias before, but now that he knew he couldn't, he felt trapped. Anyone with the financial means had left town, leaving the lower classes locked in with the rats and the fleas and the plague.

 

 


	11. Like Flies

_Yuri, is everything alright at your house? Are you feeling well? I haven't seen you around in the past few days._

_Stop freeking out. Like I said last time: I'm still here. I've bin helping Estelle prepare food for the kwora koren quoranteend people._

_"Quarantined", for your reference. And I'm just checking in. I know it's been hard on you since Ted got locked up._

_I'm fine. Ted isn't sick yet, far as I no. Just his dad. Stop worrying about me when I'm still totaly helthy._

_Alright. Sorry if I'm worrying too much. Every day I pass more locked up houses and it's almost time to start another layer in the plague pit. It's hard to keep my hopes up._

_Ya… It's bin hard for me too honestly. But - I'm still here, I haven't got sick yet. That's about all anyone can hope for thees days._

The smell of sulphur hung in the air on a warm afternoon. The theory was that plague was spread by toxic miasmas in the air, and overwhelming the miasma with a stronger scent would prevent people from breathing it in. To that end, braziers filled with burning sulphur had been set up along the major roads. Two weeks after the troops arrived, Yuri and Estelle were walking down one such road. A few of the shops they passed were boarded up, the owners having fled town when they could.

They went around a corner and found a soldier sitting on a stool across the street from a red-crossed door. The soldiers were much more strict than their local watchmen had been. Unlike the locals, the soldiers never napped on the job or showed pity by letting loved ones in for "just a minute". He recognized Estelle, though, and stood to unlock the door for her.

Estelle pulled her cloth mask up and tied it behind her head and then Yuri handed her a bundle of food wrapped in a napkin from his basket. She met his eyes for a moment and he wondered if she was trying to force a smile under the mask, and then she entered the dark house. Yuri fidgeted outside, wishing he could go with her. He didn't envy Estelle's job. Though her title was nurse, everyone knew her real job these days was checking infected houses for fresh corpses. The death count in Zaphias was up to about twenty already, and it had only been three weeks. Flynn was restless lately, too. He couldn't leave Zaphias, so he sent messages with Judith to pass on to the next Ankou at the border of their parishes and hope the content of the message stayed intact through all the Ankous it passed through. Whenever Judith was out trying to connect him with the outside world, he ran pick-up duty in town and came face to face with more death than was good for him.

Yuri glanced to the soldier and then the door. This was taking longer than normal. Was she ok in there? The soldier saw his impatience and gave him a glare; if Yuri went in there, he'd be locked in with the rest of them. Estelle would be fine, he assured himself. Yes, the longer she was in a plague house, the higher the chance she had of being bitten by a plague flea, but Yuri had doused her clothed in pennyroyal oil and insisted she wear thick stockings even in summer to try to protect her. He and all his friends would be spending the summer smelling like mint, but it was far better than the alternative.

As he was considering the possibility of breaking out of the house later if he got locked in, the door opened again and Estelle finally came out, eyes rimmed with red. She stared at Yuri for a wavering second, and then they moved together at the same time so she could fall against his chest. Yuri dropped the basket so he could wrap his arms around her and rubbed her back, while watching the soldier over her shoulder locking the house up again. Yuri stayed silent and just let her cry. He didn't need to ask what had happened. He didn't know this family personally, but knew from previous visits with Estelle that it was a family with four children. At least, there had been four children when they started visiting.

"I - I just left her," Estelle finally cried.

"Who?"

"Elara. She - she's six." Estelle's voice came out shaky and breathless. "H-her mom died this morning. Her dad two days ago. She's - she's the only one left and she's so sick. She's in so much pain and I can't… there's no cure, nothing I can do for her. I had to leave her there with her mother's corpse."

Yuri's eyes flickered to the locked door and he tried to stop picturing the scene beyond it. The mother's body would be picked up as soon as Estelle reported it, but until then…. He held Estelle closer.

"We should… keep going." She pulled away from him enough to rub her eyes. "There are other families who need food."

"Are you gonna be alright?"

Estelle took a deep breath and rubbed her eyes on her sleeve. "I don't know… does it matter? I still have to visit Ted's family. His father is sick."

"Alright. Let's get this over with, then."

Yuri led Estelle to Ted's house with a heavy heart. His greatest fear was that not far in the future, Estelle would be forced to leave Ted in the same nightmare she'd left Elara. The fact that this wasn't even an unlikely future made him feel sick.

* * *

Yuri moved slowly into Mari's bedroom. Mari herself was out buying bread, but Padreg was fast asleep in his bassinet. Yuri sprinkled dried pennyroyal leaves around his sleeping form, as he'd done every few days since the plague began. The faint whiff of mint seemed impossibly weak to fight off the plague, but it was the only weapon he had. Yuri ran his fingers across the sparse patch of dark hair on the baby's head. Babies were alright when they were asleep.

The door opened and he whipped around at the same time Mrs. Lagadeg gasped.

"Yuri! My goodness, you startled me. What are you doing here?"

"Just checking on the kid." He stepped away from the bassinet and brushed his hands on his pants to wipe away the last few pennyroyal leaves.

Mrs. Lagadeg crossed over to scoop up Padreg in her arms. She held him against her chest while giving Yuri a suspicious look. He understood why; even men related to a baby had very little to do with it for the first few years of life, let alone just a family friend.

"He's pretty cute."

Mrs. Lagadeg nodded and swayed back and forth to rock him. "Reminds me of when Mari was a baby… her hair was much lighter, though. Padreg's is coming in quite dark, isn't it?" She glanced up at Yuri. "Very similar to yours."

Yuri let the subtle accusation hang there. Of course people would suspect. Mari never said who the father was, although considering Padreg had been born almost exactly nine months after May Day and all its transient merchants, Yuri had his suspicions. "Yeah, well it's a pretty common colour."

She stared at him for a while as she rocked Padreg and then turned back to his bassinet. "Oh, what's this? Are you the one who put all these weeds in his bassinet? I've been clearing them out for days; I thought the window must have been left open!"

"Uh, yeah… it's just pennyroyal. I thought it would protect him from plague."

Her frown deepened and she set Padreg on Mari's bed while cleaning them all out of the bassinet. "A faint smell like this isn't going to dissipate the miasma. It's just going to irritate him. This is why men shouldn't be involved with babies - you have no idea what you're doing."

Yuri struggled to not get visibly annoyed. "I was just trying to help."

"Hmph. You be careful, Yuri. You were always a sweet boy, but I'm not sure I like the sort of man you've grown up to be."

Yuri cocked an eyebrow. "And what sort of man is that?"

"Someone with… loose morals." And with that, she carried Padreg out of the room.

As soon as she was gone, Yuri let himself roll his eyes and then followed her out. As far as he knew, he'd only demonstrated "loose morals" when he allegedly impregnated her daughter and then dared to be in the room when Padreg was born. Now that Mrs. Lagadeg knew he'd been putting pennyroyal in the bassinet, though, he feared he wouldn't be able to keep doing it.

Out on the street, he began the walk home. Church bells clanged as he passed a pair of soldiers making their way across town. He saw soldiers all the time now, especially around dusk to enforce the curfew. Civilians were also on the street, but only to head for the church. There were so many services lately; Yuri wondered when Duke found the time to sleep. But then, if he had any faith that praying had a tangible effect on the world, he'd probably spend most of his time pleading with God these days, too. He vaguely wondered if he should go to confession to get his soul in order just in case, which he typically only did once a year. Then he thought of all the lustful feelings he'd have to confess about Flynn, and decided he could put that off a bit longer. With any luck, he'd die of plague before anyone had to know how he felt.

"Oh, Yuri!" Mari hurried toward him on the street with a basket of mussels. "Hello!"

"Afternoon. That's some fishy looking bread." He nodded at her basket.

She looked down in confusion, then laughed. "They were all out of bread. The baker said he'd sold his last loaf to one of Barbos' men and he doesn't have any more flour until they let more food through the quarantine."

"At least there's always mussels." Yuri wondered what he'd bring to Flynn for supper tonight and if Flynn would suck it up and eat mussels if there was nothing else.

"What's on your mind?"

"Me? Eh, nothing to worry about. Your mom's still got her knickers in a twist about Padreg's birth and thinks I'm a sexual deviant corrupting the youth or something."

Mari rolled her eyes. "Oh, I'm sorry about her. I've tried to talk to her and I've told her countless times you aren't Padreg's father, but…."

"Don't worry about me. You've got a baby to worry about; I can take care of myself."

"Yes, I know. Would you mind helping me with dinner tonight, thought? My father isn't feeling well and I hoped a nice meal would get his spirits back."

Dread prickled down Yuri's spine. "Not feeling well?" Of course, ordinary colds and flus still existed alongside the plague, but these days, no one took even the hint of a cough lightly.

Mari clenched and unclenched her fingers on the basket. "Yes, well… it's probably just a bug."

"Yeah. I bet that's what it is."

* * *

Yuri tried to keep his hopes up. Not everyone who had fever-like symptoms had the plague; it could easily be a normal fever. Just because Mr. Lagadeg was feeling poorly didn't mean he had the plague. Yuri kept that stubborn optimism even while standing on the street outside Ar Kometenn, soldiers all around, waiting for Rita to come out with her diagnosis.

The door opened and Rita emerged. It was hard to speak through the mask, so all she said was one word: "Plague."

Barbos gestured to the door and then said something in French to his soldiers. They moved toward the door with a padlock and red paint.

"Hold on!" Yuri stepped past Rita to get between the soldiers and the door. "It's just Mr. Lagadeg who's sick, right?" He looked to Rita for confirmation.

She nodded and then pulled the mask off her face. "Yeah. His wife, Mari, and the baby are still healthy as far as I can tell."

"So let them out. They aren't sick!"

"They've been living with an infected person," Barbos said with a thick accent. He obviously wasn't putting any effort into speaking Breton beyond being basically understood. "They've probably already got it and just haven't shown symptoms yet."

"Then don't lock them up until they show symptoms!" One of the soldiers pushed Yuri aside, but he immediately grabbed the soldier's arm and jerked him away from the door. "You're just making it more likely that healthy people will get sick!"

The soldier holding the paint gave him an irritated look and then set the paint on the street. He cracked his knuckles and shifted to face Yuri head-on, making sure that the sword hanging from his waist was entirely visible. "Get out of the way or we will move you out of the way."

Yuri balled his hands into fists. "Quarantine Mr. Lagadeg if you have to, but let his family out."

"Yuri," Rita said, "you're not going to win this. Drop it."

Of course Rita was right. He was unarmed and alone facing four soldiers, including an armoured captain. No one was going to back him up, because even if the streets weren't deserted, everyone these days was too concerned with protecting their own families to stick their necks out for anyone else. But Mari was still in the house, and he refused to simply walk away and leave her and her child to their fate. He hadn't been present to try to help Ted when his house was quarantined, but here at least he could make a stand.

Barbos spat something in French and waved his hand. This was going to hurt. Yuri threw the first punch and appreciated that none of them drew their weapons. He managed to get a few more good punches in before two of the others managed to grip his arms and slam him against the door. Yuri brought his leg up to kick one of the soldiers and narrowly missed his crotch, but then Barbos slammed his fist into Yuri's gut with enough force to knock the breath out of him. Through the stars, he spotted Rita running away before the soldiers closed the gap between their shoulders.

After that, the world blurred into a haze of red. Yuri couldn't keep track of how often and where he was kicked or punched, or even when exactly he'd ended up on the ground. After a few token attempts to fight them off, the only defence he could muster was to pull his arms around his head.

"Stop, stop!" Flynn's voice registered on the edge of Yuri's perception, but the rain of pain continued. " _Arrête_!"

That one got them to stop. Barbos and his crew expected everyone left in town to be powerless peasants, but peasants didn't speak French. Yuri took long, slow breaths as every inch of his body throbbed. Over his head, Flynn spoke quickly with Barbos in French. Yuri had known him long enough to notice how much strain Flynn's voice was under as he forced it to keep from shouting, but Barbos evidently just heard polite diplomacy.

Mercifully, whatever Flynn had said had done the trick. Barbos said something else and the soldiers moved away from him, giving Estelle a chance to sweep in and kneel beside him.

"Yuri, are you ok?! Oh, of course you're not, what a stupid question. It'll be ok, we'll help you get home."

"Not… home," Yuri grunted and started trying to get up. On his elbow, his arm shook and he fell to the ground again with a wheeze. "Hanks'll… kill me." Flynn and Estelle jointly helped him rise to his feet and then slump most of his weight onto Flynn.

"You're such an idiot," Rita said with her arms folded. "I told you not to stand up to them!"

"We'll take him to my place," Flynn said. "It's closer than yours."

They started moving, but Yuri looked over his shoulder at Ar Kometenn, where the soldiers were now painting a sloppy red cross. "Wait… Mari."

"Leave it, Yuri," Flynn muttered. "There's nothing you can do for them. If you try to interfere again, I don't think I can talk Barbos out of beating you unconscious."

The worst part was that Yuri knew he was right. The powerlessness hurt even more than the beating. Mari was locked in with death and all he could do was shout and rage about it.

They brought Yuri to Flynn's house and led him to the sitting room. Flynn eased Yuri onto a couch and left to fetch towels, leaving Estelle to descend on him.

"Let me see your face." She lifted his chin and inspected his nose. "Ok, I don't think it's broken."

"Great." Blood spilled onto his lip and filled his mouth, but he forced himself to swallow rather than spit on Flynn's fancy rug.

"You shouldn't have fought the soldiers, Yuri. What were you thinking?" She continued to inspect him for anything worse than a bruise while she spoke.

Yuri's spirits were as battered as his body. "Mari's going to die. That's what."

Estelle stopped with her hand on his knee. Rita turned away to face the window.

Estelle hung her head, her hair partially concealing her face. "We don't know that for sure…. And you getting beat up won't help her even if she is."

"Someone's gotta stand up to those bastards, even if it's not successful."

Rita snorted. "Are you calling yourself a martyr?"

"Hmph. Something like that."

Flynn returned with some old towels and a bucket of water. Estelle set to work dabbing away the blood on his face with dampened towels, while Flynn and Rita stood back, looking worried. Estelle went as gently as she could, but Yuri still had to fight the instinct to hiss and flinch away every time she poked a growing bruise.

She pressed a handkerchief under his bloody nose. "It doesn't look like anything is broken. Hold this. But you should take it easy for few days. Oh, I wish it was winter so I could give you some ice."

"I'm fine." Pressing the fabric against his nose made Yuri sound like he had a cold. "Thanks for the help, Estelle."

"You're welcome, but please be careful in the future. If you anger the soldiers again, I'm sure they'll do much worse than this!"

"Hmph. I can take it."

Rita rolled her eyes while Estelle gave him one of her looks - the ones that were supposed to be angry and disapproving but just turned out pouty. She said, "I have to go see other patients now. You should stay here and rest for a while."

"Don't worry," Flynn said, "I can keep him under house arrest for the afternoon."

"Thank you, Flynn."

After Estelle and Rita left, Flynn stood before Yuri and surveyed him. "You got blood on my couch."

Yuri glanced at the spot of blood on the cushion beside him. "I'm so sorry my wounds harmed your furniture."

Flynn sighed as he took a seat beside Yuri. "I'm sorry about Mari. I understand what you were trying to do. It was stupid, yes, but I understand."

Yuri shifted the bloody handkerchief to see if the bleeding had stopped. "I hate those bastards. Mari and Padreg wouldn't have been victims of the plague, but they are now. It's the culling of cats all over again." A bitter and conspiracy-oriented part of his mind wondered if the upper classes wanted them all to die.

"It's like Estelle said - we don't know for sure. Not everyone in proximity to the plague catches it, and not everyone who catches it dies. Do you want to stay here tonight? You said you didn't want to see Hanks today."

He sniffed up a trickle of blood escaping his nose and reapplied the handkerchief. "If you don't mind. I don't need him yelling at me about provoking the soldiers. Tomorrow I'll tell him we sparred a bit too aggressively."

"Fine. And please be more careful. I don't want you to get hurt like this again."

Yuri rolled his eyes at yet another admonishment. "It's my ass. What's it to you if it gets kicked?"

Flynn frowned. "Do I need a reason to not want to see you in pain? I care about you."

Yuri turned away from Flynn's serious gaze. "You shouldn't worry about me."

"Well, I do. But fine, next time you're getting your ass kicked, I won't interfere." Flynn shook his head, stood, and left Yuri in silence.

* * *

Yuri awoke hours later, still on the couch. As much as he didn't like being told what to do, the fact was that by the time the adrenaline from the fight had worn off, every bruise had sunk into his bones and made any form of movement miserable. He thus spent the rest of the afternoon and evening drifting between naps. The slam of the stable door was what woke him up. He raised his neck and heard Repede get up from the floor beside him. A minute later, the kitchen door opened and he heard footsteps.

He heard Leblanc say, "Good evening, sir, can I - are you alright?"

Whatever Flynn's reply, it was too mumbled for Yuri to make out from the sitting room. Then the kitchen door closed and her heard Leblanc's heavy footsteps leaving. Repede sniffed and then left the room to investigate. Yuri would rather not get up and exacerbate his injuries, but a minute later, Repede returned and stood in the doorway, whining. Yuri frowned and then eased himself off the couch. His knees creaked and he hissed as the movement tugged a scab. Slowly, limping, he made his way to the kitchen to find Flynn sitting on a stool at the centre counter, one hand supporting his bowed face.

Flynn lifted his head and the faint moonlight through the window gleamed on streaks of tears. That made Yuri stop and cold dread slid down his chest. Flynn went out on his coach at night to collect souls, and had done so for thirty years. He had long since grown hardened to the grief and even with the uptick of work since the plague began, Yuri had never seen him so affected. Not really wanting the answer, he asked, "What happened?"

Flynn rubbed the back of his wrist over his eyes. "Ted's dead. I'm sorry."

Yuri fell against the doorframe. After all the blows he'd taken today, this one hit hardest. "I… I didn't even know he was sick yet."

Flynn shook his head and closed his eyes tight enough to squeeze out more tears. "Sit down. You're in pain."

Repede, sensing Yuri's distress, licked the back of his hand. Yuri absently rubbed his nose in return and then rounded the counter to sit on a stool beside Flynn. The hard, narrow surface wasn't good for his aches, but at the moment he barely noticed. "Tell me what happened."

Flynn nodded and rubbed his eyes again. He coughed a little to clear his throat and then began his story. The longer he spoke, the heavier Yuri's heart became.

Yuri had been right that Flynn had plenty of experience with death and tragedy. He'd spent the last thirty years meeting people on the worst day of their lives and learned a long time ago how to keep their grief from wrecking himself. There were occasions when he slipped - days where he came home from dropping someone off and needed to have a quiet drink and a cry once alone. These were often the days when he had to explain what death even meant to someone very young. These occasions, though, were rare and became rarer with every year on the job. So even when he knew his next appointment was at Ted's house, he thought he would be ok. He thought he could handle it. Ted wasn't even sick, as far as he knew.

Then he'd arrived. Flynn couldn't go inside because the door was locked and the soldiers were a lot more alert to the keys than the local watchmen had been. Regretfully, he'd knocked on the door and called out, requesting anyone who heard him to walk through the door and he would help them. He'd stood on the street, wondering who would emerge. Ted's sister had died a few days earlier, so it was down to Ted or his mother.

Ted was the one to come out, stumbling and confused. He bore no marks of the plague and when he saw Flynn, he ran to him in a panic and began babbling. Confused, Flynn leaned down to listen and offer what comfort he could. He was used to the recently deceased being confused or scared, but he couldn't have been prepared for the story Ted gushed in traumatized gasps. His blood ran cold and his chest ached. All he could do was hug Ted and give him paltry reassurances, and then lead him into the coach to sit and wait. His job here wasn't done.

He actually needed to get inside this time, so he fetched the crowbar from his coach that he carried during times of plague for just such an emergency. In the dark and muddy alley beside the house, he pried off the boards nailed over the window, grateful that his magic was enough to keep the task silent. With the window opened, he climbed in and wiggled through the opening. It was just as well they didn't have glass, or he'd have to break that, too.

Once he was done worrying about the technicalities of accessing the home, he had to return his mind the situation he'd arrived in. For a long moment he silently surveyed Ted's mother, weeping on the floor beside Ted's body. She hadn't yet noticed him, but he knew he wasn't invisible to her. The scene he took in gave form to the jumbled pieces he'd gotten from Ted, and he understood with horrible clarity what had happened.

Ted had had the plague, but only barely. He'd had a single bubo and a light fever, the earliest proof of infection. Sometimes people survived the plague… but only two days ago, his older sister had died in his mother's arms. She'd spent the days prior slowly succumbing to the agony, shivering, deformed, and frightened. Witnessing the death of her child like that had nearly destroyed Ted's mother. How could she bear to go through it again? How could any mother watch her child spend days in agony only to ultimately die? She'd done what she had to do, to spare both Ted and herself that pain. It would be better for him to die quickly, and as painlessly as she could make it. Better to be coerced into an alcoholic stupor and strangled before coming to his senses. Better to die today than succumb to the plague.

But even after making such a choice, how could any mother bear the pain of what she'd done? When the nurse came the next day to check on them, everyone would know what she'd done. They wouldn't understand. They'd charge her with murder, and she would be put to death for it. Why wait? Why sit here wallowing in the grief of her dead family, knowing her path ended at the gallows anyway? This would damn her soul to hell, but what she'd done had already condemned her. So she took a rope and a stool and… took care of it herself.

"What do you even say to a woman after that?" Flynn ask a dumbstruck Yuri. The tears had resumed as he told the story. "I still have no idea. I barely remember what I ended up saying… something about there being nothing else she could do, Ted was at peace now, it was time to move on… useless platitudes, really."

"Jesus." Yuri stared at a whorl in the counter.

"I drove them to meet Judith at the gate in shock. I can't even imagine the level of despair a mother must reach to do such a thing." Flynn sniffed and irritatedly rubbed his eyes again. "I'm sorry for losing my composure like this."

"I can hardly fault a guy for weeping over something like this. Just… Jesus." He'd watched Ted grow up. To think of that energetic young boy dead in the ground…. Yuri shuddered.

"And to think, I was so worried about Alexei knowing my identity. My biggest concern was whether he recognized me or not, and I dreaded seeing him around town. But now he's out there, safe in his chateau while we're locked in here. I wish he could be my biggest concern again."

"I could beat you up, if you want. In my experience, it's really hard to think about anything other than getting beaten up while you're getting beaten up."

Flynn raised an eyebrow. "Are you an expert now?"

"I like to think I've got some experience."

"Thanks for the offer, but I already feel like I've been pummelled tonight. I'm going to bed."


	12. The Here and the Gone

It had been Yuri's plan to not tell Hanks the truth about how he got beat up. By the time he left Flynn's house the next morning and made his way home, though, the entire street knew. The only positive was that Hanks took one look at Yuri's black eyes and pained, stiff movements and decided he'd suffered for his stupidity enough and didn't push the issue.

Over the next week, it became clear that the rest of the neighbourhood didn't feel like the issue was ready to be dropped. He heard mutters as he walked by about defying plague rules or being reckless. People he'd known all his life gave him dirty looks through windows and in one instance, he found himself unexpectedly wet when a chamber pot was emptied directly in his path. Flynn was gracious enough to let him use the bathtub at his house after that.

It seemed to Yuri that the populace was losing sight of the real villains here. Shipments of food regularly arrived at Zaphias, and was delivered outside the gates to be taken in by the soldiers. Yuri suspected less than half of that actually reached the townsfolk. Barbos remained porky as ever while the people of Zaphias struggled to stretch food across a whole day. Sometimes when an entire house died off and the soldiers cleared out the bodies, relatives later complained of valuables or money missing from the house. Barbos passed the blame onto Estelle, Rita, or the other nurses allowed to enter the homes. At the very least, no one was naive enough yet to actually believe these accusations.

On a late Sunday afternoon midway into June, Mr. Lagadeg died. Yuri was grateful for the burial shroud covering his face as he helped Hanks lower him into the open plague pit. They had already gone through an entire layer and were stacking bodies on top of bodies now with just a thin layer of dirt between them. When he was in place, Yuri tried not to dwell on all the hours he'd spent working for and with the man and how odd it was to see a staple of his childhood dead in the ground. He shovelled dirt onto him without saying a word, and felt guilty for doing so. He was a kind man who deserved a funeral, but his family wasn't permitted out of their house and everyone else in town was too busy with their own grief to spare any for a neighbour.

"What's everybody's problem?" Yuri grumbled when they had finished. "I've gotten enough dirty looks this week to tarnish a cathedral."

"Everyone's mad at you for trying to break quarantine." Hanks massaged his back after their work and then began to leave the graveyard.

"You mean trying to save Mari and her kid's lives."

"At the expense of their kids'." They left the graveyard and returned to the street. "People are scared, Yuri. There's plague in the tavern, and people think that letting the family out will bring the plague to their house next. Keep it contained, you know?"

"That's not even how plague spreads." He wished he could explain to everyone about the fleas, but he'd need serious evidence to convince them the church and the doctors were wrong. Instead of helping him and Flynn eradicate rats and prevent against fleas, they were doing pointless things like setting off cannons so that the bang would disperse the toxic vapours. If anything, the explosion just frightened more rats indoors to spread their fleas.

"No one knows for sure how it spreads. Far as they know, you endangered everyone's lives."

Yuri scowled at the world in general and wrinkled his nose further as they passed one of the sulphur braziers. He was enjoying the full range of his facial muscles, because he'd only recently been able to twist his face without pain again. "And what do you think?"

The fact that Hanks didn't answer immediately said enough, but he kept going with actual words after thinking it over. "I think you're the same reckless kid you've always been, who'll always do what he thinks is right and deal with the consequences later."

Yuri was too busy stewing with anger at the injustice of it all to answer.

"Don't worry too much about the sour looks you've been getting. Everyone gets antsy during a plague but things will go back to normal after it dies down."

An old man Yuri had known since he was a kid passed them on the street and locked eyes with Yuri for a moment. The moment was long enough to express his anger and resentment. "Great. Can't wait."

* * *

Yuri tried to ignore the change in attitude among his neighbours for the next few days, but it was difficult. Part of the problem was that his only regret for his actions was that he hadn't been strong enough to actually save Mari, and people picked up on his lack of remorse. Well, fine. If they were going to hate him for trying to save his friend, then screw the lot of them. He spent more time than ever at Flynn's house, which he started to see as a haven away from all the screwed up shit going on in town.

He was there one Sunday morning, stretched out on the floor in the sitting room with a book while Flynn read through reports Judith had brought back from other parishes. The ringing of the church bells drifted through the open windows, but Yuri didn't give a rat's ass. Ever since the plague began, church had been nothing but begging God to have mercy on them. Yuri had no intention of spending an hour with a crowd who resented him and listening to Duke drone on about faith protecting them. The only thing he regretted was speaking freely with the baker's wife when he passed her on the street this morning.

"Aren't you heading to mass, Yuri?" She'd asked him with the church in her sights.

"Oh. Uh, I'm not going today."

She raised her eyebrows. "I would have thought you'd realize that in times like these, we need the Lord's favour more than ever."

Yuri shrugged. "We're banned from large public gatherings, aren't we? That's why the tavern was closed. So why are we all massing together in the church once a week? Seems pretty foolish to me."

She had lifted her chin just enough that she could look down her nose at him. "Obviously the Lord would not permit someone to be infected in His own house, right under His nose."

"I thought God was supposed to be all-powerful and everywhere? Isn't the whole world His house? If that were the case, no one would get sick anywhere."

The baker's wife gasped. "That's edging dangerously close to blasphemy, young man."

Yuri held up his hands innocently. "Didn't mean it like that." He had. "I'm just… afraid of being in a crowd of people because of plague and all that." He wasn't.

The fact that she would assuredly tell all her friends at church about his comments and worsen his problem with public image didn't slip his mind. He pushed that problem away for now, though. With the scent of sulphur and fear of death hanging over Zaphias, walking the streets felt like travelling through hell. Flynn's house was one of the only solaces left, and he'd gladly ignore all his problems for a few hours to hang out with Flynn.

"What are… horse… doe… you… vrees?" Yuri squinted at the word on the page, sure he was reading it wrong. Beside him, Repede's tail thumped the ground.

Flynn looked up from his table. "Pardon?"

"In this book." Yuri ran his finger under the sentence. "It says 'the host served us horse doe you vrees.'"

Flynn's baffled stare made it clear he feared one of them was having a stroke. "Let me see."

He put his report to the side and knelt on the floor beside Yuri. His thigh pressed against Yuri's shoulder and Yuri aggressively ignored the sparks from that simple contact.

"Oh! That says _hors d'oeuvres_. As in appetizers. It's French."

Yuri made a petulant face. "Why is French spelled so weird?"

"The spelling makes perfect sense if you grew up speaking French, I'm sure."

"Hmph. I'm lucky I didn't, then, because that's a stupid language."

Flynn snorted and stood again (Yuri lamented the loss of his touch). "You know, you should learn French."

Yuri rolled onto his side and propped his head on his hand as he looked up at Flynn. "Oh, yeah? Why?"

"You live in France."

Yuri rolled his eyes like this was the most ridiculous reason ever to learn a language. "I never  _asked_  to live in France. They're the ones who annexed us. If they want us to join them that bad, they should learn Breton."

Flynn laughed at that and returned to his chair. "I can't exactly say I disagree with that. Unfortunately, that's not the reality we live in. As it stands, if you ever wanted a life outside of Brittany, learning French would be essential."

"And who says I want that?"

"I'm not saying you do. Just… it opens options. You saw the other week how Barbos' soldiers reacted to me speaking French, or why the Dinoia family speaks it. Those in power take you more seriously if you speak French and not what they see as a peasant language."

The only reason Yuri wasn't angry with Flynn was that he knew Breton was Flynn's mother tongue. "That's bullshit. I'm not going to learn their rotten language just so they treat me with respect. They should listen to anyone with something to say, no matter what language they speak."

Flynn shuffled some of his papers with a crease in his brow. "Of course I agree with you. But that's just… not how it is. Honestly, the first step is to get the nobility at large to recognize peasants as humans and not part of the wildlife."

Yuri's arm slumped and he rolled over on his back in exasperation. He knew Flynn was right and it pissed him off. Lying on the floor, his powerlessness overwhelmed him. The plague was raving the town, Barbos' soldiers took advantage of the healthy, his stomach growled because he'd skipped breakfast to have enough food for lunch today, and there was nothing he could do to fix any of it.

"Ugh. Let's eat something." The fact that he couldn't just walk to Ar Kometenn and cook himself something was still hard to get used to. Ever since the tavern was locked up, he started cooking in Flynn's kitchen. It was such a habit to come by Flynn's house three times a day that he kept doing it even when Flynn insisted he was cancelling the service with the closing of the tavern. They both headed for the kitchen as Yuri said, "And you're not going to pay me this time."

"If you cook a meal for me, I need to pay you. I paid Mr. Lagadeg before and he paid you, so now I'll pay you directly."

"You had an arrangement with him. Money for food. I just carried that out." Yuri pushed open the kitchen door. He said the next part bluntly, because dancing around tragic facts always just made him feel worse. "But now he's dead. That arrangement is squashed and we've got a new one."

"Yes. Our new arrangement is that I'm paying you directly to be my chef."

"And I don't agree to that deal." He turned around and folded his arms. "You're teaching me to read. I'm providing you with food. That seems like a fair enough deal to me."

Flynn glared at him for a moment and then said, "Fine."

Yuri would be sure to check his pockets before he left to make sure Flynn hadn't shoved any money in them. "So, what do you want for lunch?"

Flynn strode to his pantry and flung open the door. A spindly spider scuttled away from the light across a barren shelf. "What can you make from… three potatoes, a spoonful of honey, a jar of lard, half a bag of flour, and the butt of a baguette?"

Yuri's stomach growled once again. Things were dire when even Flynn, the current wealthiest man in town, had a barren pantry. Today was Sunday, which meant tomorrow would be the day more food shipments arrived. Until then, they'd have to make do. "I can do potato cakes. That's simple enough. Mind if I make enough to take home for Hanks?"

"Of course. What do you need from the pantry?"

"Potatoes, flour, lard. They're not going to be that great without an egg, but it's the best we can do."

Flynn set the materials on the counter in the middle of the kitchen. "Is there anything I can do to help?"

"You can start chopping up a potato."

The pair worked side by side, racing to dice their potato before the other. Yuri finished first, and laughed when he looked up at Flynn's. Not a single piece was the same side as any of the others. "How are you so bad at this?" Yuri dumped his chunks into a pot.

"They're fine. You're going to mash them anyway, aren't you?"

Yuri smiled and shook his head. He added Flynn's misshapen lumps to the pot and began to mash them while Flynn chopped up the third potato. This didn't turn out any better than the first one, so Yuri just sighed and mentally said,  _at least you're cute_.

When the potatoes were mashed and mixed with flour, Yuri directed Flynn to start getting the lard sizzling while he formed little cakes. Flynn came over to help, and they bumped elbows while rolling out the potatoes and getting horribly message hands.

"Yours are wonky."

Flynn frowned. "They look just fine."

"No, look." Yuri reached across Flynn to pat down a bulging side on one of his. "They're a mess."

"I'm trying my best."

Yuri snickered. "That's what I was afraid of."

Maybe it was because the rest of his week had been so awful, but Yuri enjoyed cooking with Flynn more than he'd ever enjoyed cooking before. He could have happily spent the rest of the day in the kitchen with him, pretending the town outside wasn't going to hell.

When the cakes were done cooking, Yuri took out two plates and put two on each. The last two he set aside for Hanks and then they both moved to the dining room. "Here we go. Bone apple tea."

Flynn rolled his eyes as he sat and took the plate. "I know you know the phrase ' _bon appétit_ ' - you've said it before."

"Yeah, but I've strengthened my anti-French stance since then." Yuri sat next to Flynn rather than across from him. He hadn't thought about it while choosing a seat, but it felt nicer to be at his side.

Flynn picked up one of the cakes from his plate and moved it to Yuri's. "Now you're just being petty."

"How about I learn English?" He moved the cake back to Flynn's plate. "The French hate the English."

"You also hate the English. And please, take it. I'm not that hungry."

"Hating the English is a passive thing. The French are the ones who quarantined Zaphias and sent Barbos to terrorize us. It's more directed. And I know how little you ate this morning so stop being self-sacrificing and eat your damn potato." He used his fork to bat away Flynn's attempt to give it back.

"You need to eat more than I do."

"I do not."

"Do, too."

"Why's that?"

"I can't die of starvation. I'm already dead."

Yuri snorted. "Stop saying you're dead; it's a real mood killer."

"Don't change the subject. I'm serious. You need food more than I do."

Yuri glared at him and then snapped, "Fine."

"Thank you." Flynn placed the cake on Yuri's plate.

They began to eat and let their conversation drift to any subject but the plague. They could almost relax and enjoy each other's company as casually as they had before the plague arrived. Almost. It was difficult for Yuri to truly let his guard down because every laugh carried to a background twinge of guilt that he was enjoying himself when Ted was dead and Mari was likely next. There was nothing he could do about either situation, though, so he forced himself to ignore those points for now. Instead, he concentrated on the tenor of Flynn's voice when he laughed and wondered if Flynn thought they kept locking eyes for slightly longer than normal, too.

When they had both finished one cake, Yuri said, "But I still say you - what's that on the street?" Yuri pointed at the window.

"Hm?" Flynn twisted around, said, "…I don't see anything," and then turned back to Yuri while saying, "What-?"

Yuri shoved the cake into Flynn's opened mouth. Flynn recoiled and coughed, but Yuri didn't relent until Flynn's mouth closed over the cake. Yuri sat back smugly and Flynn did his best to look disapproving with cheeks puffed out by potato.

Flynn swallowed heavily and said, "I was only trying to help you."

"Well, don't."

Lunch ended and they both reached to clean up the plates. Their hands brushed and butterflies fluttered into Yuri's. He paused a moment longer than he wanted to before pulling his hand away. On his way back to the kitchen to clean the dishes, he thought,  _Flynn didn't immediately recoil his hand, either._

* * *

A couple of days later, Yuri lay in bed with his hands folded under his head. They were nearly at the longest day of the year, and the sun was feeling very pleased with itself over this and was busy showing off just how good it was at heating up the town. Last year around this time, he'd taken spent a day building sandcastles on the beach with Karol and Ted. It felt like the world had veered off the road and was now tumbling through unknown and dangerous territory. Would it even be possible to go back to the proper road? Even after this epidemic died down, assuming he survived, would life ever really be the same again? The quarantine could be lifted, and Ted would still be dead. The last time the plague came to Zaphias, he'd gone from a boy with a family to an orphan. The trajectory of his entire had changed thanks to one miserable little flea.

The door thumped open and a minute later, Hanks stood at the top of the stairs and gave Yuri a look.

Yuri closed his eyes for a second. "Who's dead?"

"Padreg."

Yuri sighed. He would have sworn, but he didn't have the energy to be furious and the plague had lasted too long to be shocking. Of course the baby had died. The little guy hadn't stood a chance. That night of panic, stress, chaos, and eventually joy didn't seem so long ago. He and Estelle had worked so hard to bring the baby into the world, but he'd had less than six months to appreciate it before leaving again. What had the point been? What was the point of giving birth to a baby that would die before it even said its first words? How was he supposed to believe in a god when they lived in a world where this sort of thing happened?

"I took care of the burial already, so don't worry about helping with that."

"Sure." Of course Hanks hadn't needed his help. It wasn't like the other victims where two people had to work together to carry the corpse. He heaved himself off the bed and ran his hands through his hair. "Is Estelle the one who reported the death?"

"Yes."

Yuri resisted the urge to heave another sigh. "Do you know where she is now?"

"I think she want to see Rita."

"Thanks."

Yuri made the walk in silence. How many more were going to die? It had been a little over a month now and Hanks said bouts of plague usually lasted two to three months. They'd had almost a hundred deaths already, and the rate was still increasing. Everything just kept getting worse and worse.

He entered Rita's shot and didn't see anyone, but he heard a muffled cry from the back room. His heart sank at the thought of Estelle sobbing after dealing with Padreg. He needed to stop feeling so miserable about the plague when Estelle was the one who actually had to go into the houses and deal with the dead face to face. He knocked lightly on the door to the back room and then pushed it open. Estelle wasn't there. Instead, he found Rita sitting at one of the long wooden tables, head buried in her arms. She jerked up when she heard the door and then aggressively rubbed her arm over her face.

"W-what are you doing here?!"

"I was just looking for Estelle."

"Well, she's not here!" Rita slammed her fist on the table. "You can't just barge in without knocking!"

"Technically, I did knock. What's eating you?"

Rita wiped her eyes again and gave him a dirty look. "What do you think is bothering me? Take a look around Zaphias and make a wild guess."

Yuri took a fractional step back; a Rita pissed off at being caught crying might throw things. "I mean, did something in particular happen?"

"No. I mean, not to me. I mean… it's Estelle." She sniffed and rubbed a knuckle in the corner of her eye. "You just missed her. She's really torn up about the baby. She brought the kid into the world and to find him dead just six months later…. And then she had to talk Mari into handing the body over. What the hell are you supposed to say in that situation? How do you convince a mother to stop sobbing over her baby's corpse and hand it over? Ugh! Everything is so screwed up!" Rita threw her hands in the air and stood. "Estelle became a nurse because she wanted to help people. But now all she's doing is helping them to the grave. It's really messing her up and I'm worried how it's affecting her. I just don't want her to break down." She rolled her eyes and aggressively tried to be angry rather than sad. "And of course she refuses to take a break after I told her she needed to take a few days off. Why is she so stubborn!? She's going to work herself to death, and what will I do then!?"

"You know how Estelle is." But inside, he was thinking,  _Even Rita is crying now_. He'd never seen Rita shed a tear before, except if she was working on a particularly noxious concoction. First Estelle, then Karol, Flynn, and even Rita. Raven would probably had shed a tear or two if he hadn't been lucky enough to be working at the chateau when the town closed. He'd noticed Repede lying lifelessly in a corner a few times, as if he understood what had happened to all the other dogs in town in his own way. And then there was him. He hadn't cried once since the plague arrived. Why was that? Was there something wrong with him? Had he cried during the first plague, after his mother died, or had he been broken inside even then?

"I'm worried she's going to get sick, too." Rita fiddled with a sprig of rosemary on her table. "All this contact with the sick can't be good for her."

"She'll be fine." Yuri said this partially to reassure himself. "I don't think you can catch the plague directly from a sick person." Enter plague houses was dangerous, of course, because if the people in there were sick, it meant rats with toxic fleas might live there, too. He'd given Estelle precautions, though, and hopefully that would be enough to keep her safe.

"Not usually, but I think you can in certain cases."

"What do you mean?" Flynn hadn't said anything about that. He'd been feeling quite secure knowing he couldn't get the plague from breathing it in and only had to worry about fleas.

"You know how sometimes the plague gets into the lungs? When that happens, usually if anyone else in the house gets the plague, they also get the lung." She spoke quickly but with an awkward edge. Tears still lurked in the background, but she was determined to move past that shameful display of actual emotion. "I think the plague somehow… radiates from one person to another."

Yuri tried to picture invisible waves of sickness like a heat shimmer on a summer roof. "Huh… like a miasma generated by a person?"

Rita pinched the dried rosemary so tightly the dried needles fell to the table. "I don't know! No one really knows how this works. The best I can say is that these damn rosemary talismans are useless even if people keep buying them from me, and that I'm pretty sure it isn't witchcraft."

Yuri snickered. "Witchcraft? Is that really something you spent time disproving?" One of the best ways to kill an hour was to get Rita tipsy and then ask her opinion on witchcraft and how people should go back to blaming all their problems on faeries because there was just as much evidence that they existed. Her tirade on the ridiculousness of actually convicting someone of turning into a wolf and attacking people had emptied out Ar Kometenn once. Yuri also had a general disdain for the idea of magic, but then realized he was good friends with an immortal ghost collector and may need to revise his theories on the supernatural.

"Not  _me_ , obviously." She waved her hand dismissively. "I've heard other people theorize about it. They claim witches are poisoning wells or sending evil familiars out to infect people or… I don't know, stupid witch stuff."

"I guess people want an explanation for why everyone they love is dropping dead. Someone to hold accountable, you know."

"Sure, but there's no such thing as witches."

Yuri decided to wrap this conversation up before she really got going. "Yeah, I agree. But until we figure out a way to stop this thing for good, I'm just going to focus on the people actually here and kicking."

* * *

Flynn met Judith at the gate a little before sunset. It was nearly July, but Flynn wore his long cloak and black hat. With all the soldiers around, he didn't want to be seen lurking around the gate. He stood to the side, out of the way and not even casting a shadow. The guards slouched against the wall, and one of them sat on a barrel and struggled to stay awake at the end of hot day. None of them noticed the old wooden cart emerge through the closed door or the woman sitting at the reins.

"Good afternoon," Flynn said when the cart stopped in the middle of the road and Judith hopped off.

"Hello." She smiled as she approached him. It wasn't the same carefree grin she'd given at the start of the year, but considering the rest of Zaphias was seconds away from weeping at all times, her flicker of optimism was a lighthouse through the fog.

"No problems?"

"None." She'd made another trip to the menhir to drop off a few souls, and to meet the Ankou from the next parish over to discuss news.

"Good. So, what's the status outside Zaphias?"

"Hmm… not too different than here." She clasped her hands behind her back and gazed up at the gate. "The countryside is deserted, except for the occasional troops. Every town in the area is under its own quarantine. No ships coming in or out of Saint-Malo. There's been a few hundred deaths in Paris, but in the south, apparently it's dying down. They got it earlier than us, though."

Flynn tried to appreciate the positives. "That's good for them. And hopefully it means our epidemic will die soon, too, if it travelled in a wave."

"That's right. We should celebrate the little things. For example, my father didn't die."

"Did you fear he would?"

Judith shrugged a little. "I herd he had the plague and was very ill. I anticipated the worst. Apparently he's recovered, though."

Flynn gaped for a second. "He was sick? Why didn't you tell me?"

"I figured you had enough on your plate without worrying about my problems, too."

Flynn frowned a little. "That's considerate of you, but I don't want you to think you have to carry everything by yourself. My job as the overseer is to support you. I know it can be lonely being dead, and in that, we at least have something in common."

She smiled much more authentically than anyone Flynn had seen in the past month. "Thank you - I really mean it. It is nice to talk to you, and not only because you're the only person in town who can see and hear me."

Flynn managed a smile even though the muscles had almost atrophied during the plague. "I like talking to you, too. But, uh, of course, I regret that you're hear talking to me and not still alive and well."

Judith laughed and climbed back up to the seat of her cart. "It's interesting to imagine how different life would be if I hadn't gone for a swim that day… but you know, maybe if I was still alive and my father had stayed here, he wouldn't have survived the plague. You wouldn't be here because the house wouldn't have been for sale, so you wouldn't have been able to help mitigate the plague with rat poison and pennyroyal. Then, even more people might have died."

"Are you saying you're glad you died? As if you were a martyr?"

"Hm… not quite." She shrugged. "I do wish I hadn't drowned and I wish for your sake that you hadn't been murdered… but those things happened. Events spiralled after those, some good and some bad. The world is as it is, so it's best to make the most of what we have."

Flynn mulled over her words for a few moments and nodded once. "We're still here."

"What was that?"

"It's just… something Yuri wrote a few times. 'I'm still here'. Despite everything life has thrown at us, we're still here, doing the best we can. That's the most anyone can hope for."

"Yes. So I'm going to be happy that my father is alive and not fret over the fact that I'm now. I'll see you around, Flynn."

Judith drove her cart away and Flynn returned home. He smelled frying eggs as soon as he approached the kitchen and smiled; Yuri was here. No matter how upsetting a day might be, discovering Yuri in his house always made him at least a little bit happier. Sometimes he still thought about Judith's words: "You're in love with him, aren't you?" and wondered if the love between friends could be considered in love, because he knew his affection for Yuri was much deeper than typical friend words like "fond of" or "enjoy the company of".

Yuri entered the dining room a moment after he did with a ham, cheese, and egg galette. "Hey," Yuri said in way of greeting, but the word fell flat. Flynn suddenly remembered why Yuri looked so down.

"I know about Mari. I'm sorry."

Yuri seemed startled for a second before remembering who Flynn was. He half-heartedly shrugged one shoulder and sat across from Flynn. "Yeah. Wasn't really a surprise."

Flynn had noticed Mari's death in the background of his mind this morning, but he felt so many deaths lately that he rarely paid specific attention to them. "You were friends with her for a long time, weren't you?"

"Yeah. We knew each other since we were little. One time, when I was about… five or six, probably, I tried to scare her with a toad I found, but she thought it was cute. Heh, we decided to keep it as a pet until her mom found her holding it a few days later and flipped out about getting warts."

Flynn gave Yuri a sad smile in comfort. "She sounds like a good friend."

"I hate these fucking fleas. How many lives have to be ruined before they'll be satisfied?" He shook his head angrily. "She'd just had Padreg. She was supposed to have a happy life with her son. Now they're both gone."

"It's true what the stained glass says at the church…" Flynn spoke softly, not feeling like eating the food sitting below him right away. "'I kill you all'. King or commoner, Death doesn't care what plans you had in life when he takes you for the dance."

Yuri leaned back in the chair, arms folded, looking cross. "It's fucked. But you know… it's like I said. I'm still here, for now. I haven't died yet. Mari's dead and there's nothing I can do for her, but I'm alive and I'm not going to wallow in misery and waste that when I might join her soon enough."

"Yeah. Let's enjoy the time we have." He picked up his knife and fork to begin eating, but then paused after the first slice. "I meant to ask. I know this might seem innapropriate, but I've always wondered…. Were you and Mari…? I mean, were you Padreg's…?"

Yuri met his eyes, rolled his own, and then shook his head. "No. You're not the only person to come to that conclusion, but no. Mari was only ever a friend. A good friend." He thought for a moment and scowled again. "A dead friend."

"Yes. Of course. I'm sorry, I shouldn't have even brought it up." But Yuri's response pleased him, because it meant he didn't have to feel vaguely jealous of a dead woman.


	13. Defiance

It was a drizzly day at the height of July. Some residents hoped that the rain pouring down would clear the air and keep the miasma at bay, while Yuri hoped it meant rats would stay inside and not spread their fleas. Most people were staying inside, too, but Yuri and Flynn took advantage of the empty streets to lay out more rat poison.

"Do you think this really helps?" Yuri held his coat over his head rather than wear it properly.

Flynn straightened up from the alley where he'd lain out arsenic-soaked bread behind some barrels. "I think it does. Maybe not a lot, but if it cuts down on the rats to save just one person who would otherwise have died, I think that's worth it." He wasn't bothering with the rain and let it stream down his face. "Don't you?"

Yuri pictured the red cross painted on the front door of Karol's house. He'd struggled to hold himself back when he saw them locking it up last week. If not for Estelle and Flynn standing beside him and clutching his arms, he probably would have charged forward and gotten another asskicking. It felt as though the plague was specifically targeting him, knocking down the people he loved one by one. That was nonsense, of course, because scores of people were dead and it was nothing but grim probability that Ted's family, Mari's, and now Karol's were affected. The number of dead kept piling up, so Yuri and Hanks had needed to dig a new plague pit because the first one filled up. Three days ago, Karol's mother had been one of the first to be buried there. As far as Yuri knew, Karol and his dad were still alright, but it was only a matter of time.

"You're right," he said to Flynn. "But I put these rat traps in Karol's house, and plague still reached them. What good is it doing?"

Flynn backed against the wall to find some protection from the rain. "It's possible his mother got bit by a flea while she was out of the house, and then carried it back."

"Yeah, maybe," he grumbled. He shifted his arms and a glob of freezing water escaped his shelter to splat on his face. "What if you predecessors were wrong about how plague spreads? How did they know it was fleas, anyway?"

"Khroma based her guess on how it spread. It tends to follow trade routes, which makes sense because people carry it from place to place. But, she noticed it especially follows textile trade. She guessed that it had to be linked to something the disproportionately is included in textiles transportation, and also is linked to hygiene considering it didn't have as much impact in Jewish communities, and all these other clues that lead her to determine it was fleas."

"Wait… textiles?"

"Yeah, like fleas infesting fabric and clothing to be sold and carrying the plague.

Yuri's stomach dropped. "Like blankets?"

"Blankets, yes, those too."

"Shit… I bought a blanket from a sick guy on May Day. I thought he had the flu or something, but the plague appeared right after May Day, so…."

Flynn nodded grimly. "I wouldn't be surprised if he already had it and was the one who brought the plague to Zaphias."

Yuri took a tight breath. "The blanket I bought from him - I gave it to Padreg." The coat slipped from his fingers as he arms lost the energy to stay up. He'd taken a blanket from a plague victim and given it to a defenceless baby, and now that baby was dead. Oh, god, oh god….

Flynn's eyes widened and mouth slackened as he realized what he'd just confirmed. "Oh, Yuri, no." He left the shelter of the eaves and let rain hit him as he grabbed Yuri's shoulder. "That couldn't have been what made them sick. If your blanket had plague fleas, they would have gotten sick right away, not a month into the epidemic."

Flynn's words helped ground Yuri in reality again, but he still felt light headed. "Are you sure?"

"Absolutely." He rubbed Yuri's shoulder. "There is no possible way that your actions contributed to their deaths. The man you met probably was infected, but the blanket wasn't what brought plague to them."

"Ok." Yuri found himself leaning into Flynn's touch. "Yeah. Ok."

"You probably helped them survive longer than they would have by dealing with rats and warding off fleas. You have nothing to feel guilty for."

Yuri took a deep breath to calm his panic. "Thanks," he muttered and then pulled away from Flynn to pick up his coat. Both he and the coat were thoroughly wet now, so he didn't bother trying to shelter himself again and just folded it under his arm. "I think I'm ready to go home."

"We've used up all the poisoned bait, anyway. I'll walk you back."

They left the alley and squelched through the muddy streets. Flynn's words had calmed Yuri down, but he couldn't shake the seed of guilt. He'd met the person who brought the plague, noticed he was sick, and did nothing. What if he'd talked to Flynn or Estelle or someone else who knew about medicine that day? They might have recognized the symptoms had had the man kicked out of town before the plague could spread. Logic said it would have been too late and any plague rats that had come in with him would already have been in town, but logic didn't mean much in the face of guilt and grief.

"Are you still bothered?" Flynn asked when they neared Yuri's street.

"No."

Flynn looked at him. "You're a bad liar."

Yuri shrugged. He was too distracted and felt too comfortable with Flynn to put any effort into his lie.

"My mother died of the plague about twenty years ago." Flynn paused and let the rush of rain fill his silence. "I was in Saint-Malo at the time. I didn't find out until I came to visit and found our house empty. I always wonder… if I had been there, was there anything I could have done? I knew about the fleas by then; could I have protected her?"

They walked close together, shoulders bumping. Yuri said, "Maybe you could have. But probably not." He'd done everything he knew to protect his loved ones, and they died anyway. His optimism for saving people had died with the rest of them.

"That's what I tell myself. She's gone and I'm still here, and instead of constantly mourning loved ones I've lost, I should focus on the people I love that are still here with me."

Yuri splashed in a puddle but the cold water that splattered his calf wasn't as jarring as hearing Flynn talk about people he loved.

"Like Sodia and Leblanc, who have been with me for so long now, or new friends here like Judith and Estelle, or you…." Flynn trailed off like he'd just noticed he was speaking aloud. He quickly glanced at Yuri.

Yuri forced a laugh. "I'm not a friend?"

"Of course you are. I didn't mean… you're not like Judith and Estelle. They're my friends but you're…."

They were just about to round the corner to Yuri's street now, but Yuri found himself slowing down. He didn't want this conversation to end. "I'm what?"

Flynn's cheeks were a shade of pink now and he visibly struggled to find words. "You - I mean, you're more than just… I think I…."

Their hands brushed as they walked. An explosion of confused excitement rattled through Yuri's chest. He'd spent months burying his heart out of the knowledge his feelings would never be reciprocated, but now it was cautiously poking to the surface to see where Flynn was going with this. "If you're afraid to say something because you think I'll be bothered by it," he said slowly and cautiously, "then you should know that there's nothing you could say I wouldn't welcome." He looked to the side and fleetingly met Flynn's eyes.

Flynn's Adam's apple bobbed and he stared at the street as they rounded the corner. "I just meant to say… you're very…. I think I might have fee-"

"No!"

Flynn's head shot up in mortified panic, but then realized Yuri wasn't looking at him. Instead, Yuri was already running down the street, kicking up mud without care. Three soldiers stood around the front door of Yuri's house, hammering an iron ring into the door frame.

"Get away from there!" Yuri lunged at the soldier with the hammer, but the two others intercepted him. A fist to his stomach knocked the breath out of him and the next thing he knew, he splatted in the mud, panting.

"You again!" one of the soldiers growled. "I thought we taught you your lesson last time."

"Yuri!" Flynn was only seconds behind him and threw himself between Yuri and the soldiers and said something in French.

"Get out of here, Flynn." Yuri's fingers squeezed through mud as he pushed himself to his feet. "I don't want you to diffuse this. I'm not letting them lock up my house!" There was only one reason they would do so, but Yuri wasn't going to let himself think about that until the immediate situation was taken care of.

"Your house?" one of the soldiers asked.

"Yeah, my house! So get your grubby hands off it!" Yuri shoved past a protesting Flynn.

There was a quick exchange in French that caused Flynn to shout back at them, and then the nearest soldier grabbed Yuri's arm.

"If you've been living here with the plague-infested old man, you gotta be quarantined, too."

"Like hell!" The mud on Yuri's arm helped him slip out of the soldier's grip. "Fuck off and leave us both alone."

"You can't lock him up!" Flynn once again inserted himself between Yuri and the soldiers. "Yuri and Hanks are the gravediggers. Who's going to take care of dead bodies if they're both locked up? You?"

The soldiers exchanged uncertain glances.

"He's obviously not sick. He doesn't spend a lot of time indoors. Let him stay out so he can keep taking care of the graves."

The soldiers shrugged and seemed to decide this wasn't worth their time fighting over. "Alright, but he if tries any more shit, he's getting thrown in there."

"Fine. Yuri," Flynn turned to him, "you agree, right? Please don't try to fight this. It didn't work last time and it won't work this time."

Yuri clenched mud in his fists and practically shook from helpless fury. He hated that Flynn was right and there was nothing he could do. "Fine," he snapped and twisted around. Mud splattered from the force of his footsteps and the rain was already washing him clean of it.

Flynn hurried to catch up to him. "Yuri, I'm so sorry about-"

"Right." He didn't want to be comforted. Now was not a time to be comfortable.

They reached the square in front of the church and Yuri paused to look at the graveyard. He'd spent so much time there with Hanks in the past few weeks. The next time he was there with Hanks would be….

"Damn it!" Yuri shouted into the rain. Hanks was sick and going to die. Karol would get sick any day now. How much longer until Estelle and Rita kicked the bucket, too? Was this his punishment for not having faith in God? He had to watch everyone he cared about slowly die before he did, too? He didn't even believe in God, but thinking that was somehow better than accepting that this whole world was just naturally meaningless bullshit. He pictured the Ankou on the church's stained glass window: _I kill you all_.

Flynn came up behind him. "Yuri…."

Yuri shoved Flynn's hand off his shoulder. "Why are you letting this happen?"

"What?"

Yuri twisted to face him. "You're the Ankou - the head Ankou, even. You personify Death. You control who lives and who dies, so why are you letting this happen?!" His voice cracked both from anger and grief. Hanks was going to die. The only family he'd known since he was two years old was locked up in their house, deathly ill, and there was absolutely nothing he could do about it.

"You know I can't," Flynn said gently. "I don't decide who lives and who dies. The Ankou takes care of souls after they die; we don't choose who dies."

"I saw what you did for Ted on May Day. You said yourself he was going to die and you chose to save him. Why haven't you done that for any other person?"

"I told you that day that I shouldn't have. It's a power I have to use sparingly. Using it that day was very irresponsible."

"So be irresponsible and go save Hanks. Or Karol. Or, hell, anyone in town who needs it."

Flynn slowly shook his head and Yuri had never wanted to punch him so much. "I can't interfere with the natural order of things that much. It puts me in the position of deciding who is worthy of being saved and who isn't, which equates to me choosing who who dies. That is completely against the duty of an Ankou. "

"I don't care about your rotten duty. Go look a dying man in the eyes and say, 'sorry you have to die today; I could save you but I'm not supposed to.'"

"For thousands of years, the chief Ankou has overseen death in Brittany. I can't be the one to throw off my duty and transform it into picking and choosing who deserves to live."

"What if it were me?"

Flynn blinked rain out of his eyes. "What?"

"If I were the one dying. Would you save me?"

Flynn's face twisted in pain as he deliberated this. "I… would want to. You know that, right? I can't bear the thought of you dying. But…."

Yuri curled his nose in disgust. "But you'd let me die?"

"I have to," he said softly. "I have no right to decide who lives and dies."

"Choosing not to save someone when you can is making a decision." Yuri stormed away from the conversation before he actually punched Flynn.

"Yuri, wait!" Flynn hurried after him. "Please understand, this is a difficult decision for-"

"Fuck off, Flynn!" He shoved Flynn away when he got close. "I don't want to hear it."

Flynn stopped and his arm dropped to his side. Yuri gave him one last glance and then kept going. Flynn could stand there and drown for all he cared.

* * *

 

Yuri lived at Estelle’s house.  Flynn had offered his extra bedroom when he ran into him on the street a day after Yuri’s house was locked up, but Yuri gave him a hand gesture Mrs. Lagadeg would gasp at and kept walking.  Estelle only had one bed, which she had insisted he take, but Yuri argued her into letting him sleep on the floor.  He was crashing at her house, after all.  

“I still don’t understand what’s going on between you and Flynn,” she said one evening.  

Yuri folded his arms under his head and stared at the ceiling.  “It’s… complicated.”

She looked at him on the floor from her place at the table.  “It’s something to do with Hanks, isn’t it?  That’s why you came here after he got sick instead of Flynn’s house?”

Yuri struggled to figure out how to explain without telling Estelle Flynn literally had magical healing powers.  “He’s… selfish.”

“He is?” She cocked her head.  “He’s always struck me as a very generous man.”

Yuri glared at the ceiling.  “Yeah.  He comes off that way.  It’s kind of hard to explain, but there are ways Flynn could be helping with the plague and he isn’t doing them because he isn’t personally invested in it.”  At least, that was Yuri’s interpretation.  Flynn’s hesitation when Yuri asked what if he was the one dying, or how he’d said he wanted to save his mother, led Yuri to believe that if Flynn actually had a personal connection to Hanks, he’d change his tune.  

“How would he help with the plague?  He isn’t a doctor.”

“It’s… complicated.” He sighed and shifted to get more comfortable. “Sorry for taking up space in you house.”

“I really don’t mind.  You have enough to worry about without being homeless.”

“I suppose so.  You saw Hanks yesterday, right?  How is he?” 

Yuri didn’t like Estelle’s expression.  

“He’s… really sick.”  She looked at her hands and fiddled her thumbs. “I don’t think it will be very long now.  I’m sorry.”

Yuri gazed at the rafters of the building.  “Hm.”

For the next few days, Yuri helped Estelle out with her nursing as much as he could.  When he wasn’t with her, he either lurked in the apothecary until Rita told him to stop bothering her or wandered aimlessly around the streets.  He was too furious with Flynn to talk to him, and everyone else he knew was either dead or quarantined.  Even Repede was off limits, because spending time with him would mean going to Flynn’s house. His social circle was dwindling, but nobody was willing to make new friends these days.  Why set yourself up for additional heartbreak?  

Yuri didn’t cry when Hanks died.  He took the body wrapped in a white shroud and stubbornly refused to look at his face.  He buried Hanks alone, and every shovelful of dirt brought up fresh memories or everything Hanks had done for him growing up.  Maybe he ought to cry.  People usually cried when their fathers died, as he’d seen often enough this summer.  As he stood at the edge of the grave beneath a grey sky, he couldn’t seem to summon them.  Maybe Hanks wasn’t father enough to flick the switch, or maybe he was too drained of emotion to channel anything into tears.  

Because he was standing motionless, he heard the approach of someone else.  He looked over his shoulder and saw Duke approaching him until the priest ended right beside him.  

“What do you want?”  Yuri hoped Duke was here to reprimand him for not going to church, because then he’d have an excuse to get angry and shout at someone.  

“A funeral attended by no one is a tragedy.”

“This isn’t a funeral.  Who has time for funerals these days?”

“You have a valid point.”  Duke was quiet for a moment before saying, “I know that Mr. Hanks was as a father to you.”

Yuri fidgeted his hands on the shovel.  “He was a good man.”

Another silence reigned.  Hanks was out of sight now, but Yuri kept staring at the mound of dirt that marked his place in the mass grave.  

“At times like these,” Duke said slowly, “it is comforting to remember that those that leave us are not truly gone.  They have merely been accepted into the Lord’s embrace, and their spirit-”

“Oh, shut up.”  Hanks hadn’t been taken up to heaven by God.  He’d been taken away on an old cart by Judith, and sent to walk into the menhir outside of town.  Who knew where that led?  Maybe it didn’t go anywhere and the dead were simply erased.  “Look at this damn grave.  All these people are gone.  Either you’re still here or you’re not, and Hanks is not still here.”  He pressed on the shovel enough to drive the tip into the grass.  “Even if he is in heaven, that doesn’t help me.  I can’t talk to him there.  I’m not going to pretend he’s still around somehow instead of moving the hell on with my life.”

Duke was quiet after his outburst and eventually said, “I am sorry that the words of our lord cannot bring you comfort.”

“Hey, you’re supposed to know about all this religious stuff, right?”

“Do you have a question?”

Yuri barrelled headfirst into blasphemy.  “If God is all powerful, and God loves us, why is the plague here in the first place?”

Yuri glared at Duke as the priest considered the question, daring him to provide a satisfactory answer.  

“The Lord is… ineffable.  The world is so vast and His knowledge so great that we cannot presume to know better than Him.  Perhaps there is a reason He is trying us with this pestilence that is beyond our understanding.”

Yuri had a lot of thoughts about this but decided cursing at a priest was not a good use of his time. “Yeah, maybe God has some higher plan and that’s why he has to kill us all.  Or maybe the whole plague is being orchestrated by witches or shit.”

“Witches do not exist,” Duke said firmly.

Yuri raised his eyebrows.  “You don’t believe in witchcraft?  I thought priests were the ones most adamant about it being a threat.”

“Hm… there are some among the clergy who feel that way.  However, I feel that claiming Satan can grant powers to the Lord’s children and work dark magic in His world is the true blasphemy.  Additionally, the methods witch finders use to root out their supposed witches are baseless and cruel.”

A smidgen of respect grew for Duke, but only a smidgen.  Yuri couldn’t forgive his attempt to justify Hanks’ and Ted’s deaths as part of some greater good.   “Yeah, well… thanks for the words of encouragement or whatever.”

* * *

 

A few days later, Hanks’ house was declared plague-free.  As the sole inheritor of everything Hanks owned, it passed into Yuri’s possession.  Yuri sat at the table in the main room, wishing he hadn’t come into property like this.  Mrs. Hanks had died when he was still a kid, and losing her had been losing his mother all over again.  Then Repede had to be banished to Flynn’s house to save him from the cull and now Hanks was gone, too.  This house had never been so empty and he considered selling it just to rid himself of the memories.  But Hanks’ great-grandfather had built this house, and he wanted Yuri to have it.  

Yuri leaned forward and pressed his face into his hands. “I hate this,” he muttered to himself.  Was it really only late July?  As recently as early May, his life had been going great.  It had all happened so fast and he still caught himself thinking about things he would tell Ted, or Mari, or Hanks before being hit by the gut-wrenching realization that they were all gone now.  He’d even lost the cozy afternoons spent in Flynn’s library, and Karol was going to die any day now, he was sure.  Was this how his mother had felt twenty years ago?  He’d known Karol since the kid was born and thought of him as a little brother, and the grief of knowing he was going to die must be similar to how his mother had felt looking at him.  He wished she was still alive so he could at least ask her how she’d dealt with so much grief.  

Then he thought, he  _did_  know what his mother had done.  She had snuck out and smuggled Yuri to Hanks’ house before he could be quarantined with her.  She’d broken the plague rules to give him a better chance of surviving instead of condemning him to being locked up to die with her and her parents.  As far as Yuri knew, Karol wasn’t sick yet. There was nothing he could do for the dead, but Karol was still here and just maybe he could keep him from leaving.  

* * *

 

Yuri spent three days watching soldiers watch Karol’s house.  He used his wax tablet to keep notes of exactly when a new soldier arrived to take on the next shift to make sure there was a consistent pattern.  The notes were very basic, and he’d be embarrassed to brag about being able to write something so simple, but he was proud of himself nonetheless.  This made him think of Flynn and he had to force away a pang of regret at the way that relationship had ended. During this time, he also discussed his plan with Estelle and Rita to recruit their help.  Both of them were on board to rescue Karol without any need for persuasion.   

On a Monday night when everyone else was hidden away at home, he put his plan into action.  First he went to Rita’s shop to pick what he needed, and changed into the costume while there.  He stepped back onto the street feeling like he’d shifted realities.  The warm summer night became uncomfortably warm in the long black cloak with a scarf wrapped tightly around his neck.  The leather mask clung to his face and made it difficult to work with only two small eye holes to check the cobblestones.  He ended up using the cane more to check where he was stepping than to bat people away.  The long beak of the mask was stuffed with a jumble of strong scents: mint, camphor, and cloves were the only ones he knew.  The overpowering scents mixed together into a disgusting aroma that left him light-headed.  Most of all, it was difficult to walk normally with his knees squeezed together hiding the items that were essential to his plan.

Yuri approached Karol’s house slowly - he didn’t want to look too eager to go in there.  The soldier by the door stood when he saw him and was already reaching for the keys when Yuri arrived.  This was one of the soldiers who’d kicked his ass; Yuri remembered their faces horribly well.  Yuri rapped on the door with his stick to tell the soldier to hurry up and unlock it.  The solider did as told and then backed away, not wanting to get any closer to the open doorway than necessary.  Yuri shuffled through the door, which banged shut behind him, and he could finally breathe deep in relief.

Yuri’s breath morphed into a coughing fit when he got a strong whiff of the cocktail or perfumes in the beak part of his mask.  Still coughing, he fiddled with the straps on the back of his head and tore it off to take a gasp of fresh air.  Only then did he spot Karol in a chair at the table, staring at him in shock.  

“Y-Yuri?”

“Hey, Karol.”  Sweat dropped down the back of Yuri’s neck.  The day had been warm, but a lower fire crackled in the heart at one side of the room.  A pallet of blankets had been dragged close to it, upon which Karol’s father lay huddled under blankets.  Sweat gleamed on his face.  

“What are you doing here?” Karol asked.  “When did you become a doctor?”

“I’m not.  I’m here to get you out of here.”  He loosened his knees and let the fabric he’d smuggled in drop to the floor.  He stepped aside to reveal it under his robe and picked up Rita’s doctor uniform, specially tailored for her short stature.  He carried the articles to the table and then placed his hands on Karol’s neck.  “You’re not sick, are you?”  He gently robed Karol’s neck for any sign of swelling, heart racing with the fear of finding something.

“No.”  Karol pulled away from him.  “I’m not sick, Yuri, I promise.  But how do you plan to get me out of here?” 

Yuri picked up the plague mask.  “You’re going to put this on and walk out.”

Karol stared dubiously at the beak and then to the door.  “Are you sure this will work?  If I sneak out of quarantine….”

Barbos would have him shot.  He’d probably have Yuri killed, too, especially since this was his second offence.  “What choice do you have?  If you stay here, you’ll die of plague.  It’s not a nice way to go.  Worst case scenario if you try to escape is they kill you quick.”

Karol hunched his shoulders and shuddered.  “Yuri, that is not nearly as reassuring as you seem to think it is.”

“The guard at the door is going to change in a few minutes.  The new guy won’t have seen a tall doctor go in.  He’ll think you’re Rita walking out.”

“Ok, but what about you?”

“I’ll leave tomorrow morning when the shift changes again.”

Karol fiddled his hands and glanced around the room.  “No one will have gone in, though.  The guard won’t be expecting someone to come out.”

Yuri nodded; he’d considered this.  It was why he was sending Karol out now and not dropping off the costume for him to sneak out tomorrow.  The one who left tomorrow would be at much greater risk of being caught, and that wasn’t going to be Karol.  “That’s a risk I’ll have to take.”

Karol looked to the hearth.  “But… what about my dad?”

Yuri slowly shook his head.  “He’s already sick.  Moving him won’t change anything.  Go talk to him.”

Karol hopped off the chair and hurried to his father’s side.  Yuri wandered away to give them privacy.  He stood by the wall and picked at a splinter in a column while Karol spoke softly with his father across the room.  Yuri wished he had acted sooner to save Karol’s dad, too, but he didn’t know if he could get away with smuggling two people out.  Maybe it was for the better this way.  As he waited, he heard voices outside.  The watchman was handing it over to his replacement, right on schedule.  

After a few minutes, Karol said, “I’m ready.” 

Yuri turned to see him standing in the middle of the room, already wearing Rita’s cloak.  He held the mask with trembling fingers.  “Where should I go?”

Yuri strode to him quickly.  “As soon as you leave here, go straight to Estelle’s house.  She’s expecting you and will keep you hidden until the plague is over.”

“Ok.”  Karol’s voice shook.  “Yuri… I don’t know about this.”

Yuri rested his hands on Karol’s shoulders.  “Put on the mask, walk out like you’re supposed to be there, and don’t look back until you reach Estelle’s.  You’ll do fine.”

Karol gave one tight nod.  “Ok.  Ok, I’ll do it.  I’ll see you tomorrow, right?”

“You can count on it.”

Karol gave his father one last look, swallowed heavily, and then put the mask on.  Yuri made sure it was properly tightened at the back and adjusted the hat, then gave him a little nod and gestured to the door.  Karol approached it slowly, but when he pushed it open, he raised his head and strode out with confidence.  Yuri waited, muscles tense, for the watchman to shout and force him back into the house, but Karol passed without comment.  The door shut and Karol was gone, on his way to freedom.  Yuri fell into a chair in relief.  Karol, at least, had a shot at not dying now.  

“Yuri….”  Mr. Capel’s voice was so faint Yuri almost missed it.

Yuri left the chair and knelt on the floor next to him.  “Hey.  I’m sorry I’m too late for you.”

Mr. Capel cracked open his eyes.  His face was was and sweaty, eyes bloodshot.  “Th-thank you… for saving… m-my…”  He broke off with a cough and closed his eyes.  Under his blanket, he shivered.  By the time he was done coughing, blood specked his lips.  “My son,” he croaked.

Yuri nodded.  “I don’t want him to die, either.  Is there anything I can do for you here?”

Mr. Capel shook his head.  “Just let me… sleep.”

Yuri nodded and tried to keep his expression neutral.  Karol is safe, he told himself as he left Mr. Capel in peace.  There were so many people he couldn’t save, but at least he’d saved Karol.  If he couldn’t get out of this house tomorrow and ended up dying here, at least he would have that to hold on to.  


	14. Deep Breath

It was a long night. As the night wore on, Mr. Capel coughed more and more and after the pitcher of water ran out, Yuri couldn't offer him anything to help. Eventually, he stopped running over during a coughing fit, because talking to Yuri wore out Mr. Capel even more. Yuri climbed the rickety staircase to the second level and lay down on Karol's bed. He had a fretful sleep, with dreams interlaced with dancing skeletons and rats that vomited blood. When dawn finally cracked through the windows, he couldn't have been more relieved. Spending twelve hours in a plague house had stressed him out; he couldn't imagine what everyone who had been locked up for days had endured.

He heard voices below and hurried downstairs. The night watch was changing over, and a new guard that hadn't seen Karol leave last night was taking up position at the door. Yuri wrapped his scarf around his neck and prepared to leave.

"I have to go now."

Mr. Capel's head shifted toward him and his eyes opened a sliver. He just grunted, out of energy to talk.

"Estelle will be here soon. She'll have food and fresh water, and can tell you for sure if Karol made it safely to her house." Yuri hesitated with the mask in hand. In thirty seconds, every idea for saving Mr. Capel's life rushed through his mind before being discarded. Even if he could get him out of the house, Yuri had little hope that he could recover at this stage of illness.

"Go," Mr. Capel moaned. "And… thanks."

"I'll look after Karol. He's going to be fine." Yuri pulled the mask to his face and buckled it behind his head. The strong smell caught him off guard. Not willing to look at Mr. Capel again, he marched to the door and pushed it open a couple of inches until the chain across the threshold stopped it.

"Hey!" The guard outside jumped to his feet.

"Drop the chain," Yuri said impatiently. "I need to get out."

"No one goes in or out of a plague house except doctors, nurses, and body collectors."

Yuri rapped his cane against the door and shoved his beaked face into the gap. "And what do you think I am?"

The soldier startled back. "You - I wasn't told a doctor was in there."

"Obviously I am. I showed up twenty minutes ago to check on this family and I'm keen to get out now."

"Uh… right, of course." There was a rattle of chains and the click of a lock and then the door opened wide. "Sorry about that."

"Don't hold me up again, or else I'll bring you in with me next time." Yuri whacked his cane on the man's shins for good measure on his way out. As he walked away, the soldier's eyes bored into his back, but Yuri kept going. Just as he'd told Karol to do, he kept walking all the way through town until he reached Estelle's house by the wall. He didn't bother knocking and threw open the door, making Karol and Estelle jump.

"Yuri!"

Karol ran to him and Yuri took the mask off after closing the door. "Glad you made it here ok."

"You, too!" Karol threw himself at Yuri and hugged his waist tightly. "I was really worried you would get trapped in there."

Yuri patted Karol's head and then gently pried him off. "Nah, Barbos' men aren't that bright. No worries." He pulled off all the elements of the plague doctor costume and took a seat next to Estelle. She leaned over to hug him as well.

"I'm really glad both of you are ok. What you did was really brave, Yuri."

Yuri shrugged her off. "I just didn't want to bury Karol, too." He smiled at his friends. For the first time, he felt a glimmer of hope. Plague epidemics generally lasted two or three months. It was almost August now, which meant they'd been dealing with it for two and half months. Surely it couldn't last much longer. As long as Karol and Estelle stayed safe for just a few more weeks, he might have a salvageable life when all this was over.

* * *

Flynn had been spending a lot of time invisible lately. He held back the temptation to follow Yuri around just to see him and estimate how angry he still was, because Flynn at least had standards. It was just easier to remain unseen and not deal with the world.

After the rainy, overcast days they'd been having, he enjoyed a glimpse of the sun on the day after Yuri rescued Karol. He sat in the grass in the graveyard, invisible to the world. Beside him, Judith sprawled across the ground like a cat soaking in the sun in the last hour before it set.

"It's nice to have a break," she said to the sun with eyes closed.

Flynn nodded. "I almost forgot what it felt like to not have at least one pick-up every day." Today was a wonderful day because no one had died. There had been some deaths elsewhere in Brittany that Flynn noticed in the back of his mind, but in Zaphias, it was quiet. There would be more, of course. There were still people sick and he expected to pick them up in the next few days. But over the past month, the volume of dead had been at a rate of at least one a day, so the fact that they'd hit a day without any meant the plague was slowing down. The deaths were going to get more spaced out from here on, until they finally tapered out completely. The end was in sight. Maybe when this was all over, Yuri would talk to him again.

"Have you thought about what Yuri said?" Judith asked.

Flynn scowled. He'd thought about what Yuri said every day since their argument, especially the part about telling him to fuck off. It was the most frustrating thing that he had finally come to the conclusion that perhaps his feelings for Yuri weren't entirely friendly, and then their relationship blew up. He couldn't even be mad at Yuri, because he understood where Yuri was coming from. If their positions were reversed, he'd be furious, too. "Some."

"What if we did save people? Ignored the rules and saved every life we could?"

Flynn turned his head to her. "You want to do what Yuri suggested? Pick and choose who deserves to be saved?"

She opened her eyes and spread her arms across the grass. "Would it really be so bad? There's been so much heartbreak in this town."

"I know what you mean. I've thought about it for a long time. I think, though, it would open a slippery slope. We agree to only save the lives of children, perhaps, but what is the cut-off there? Save someone who's fourteen but not sixteen? I know myself and I know that once I give myself permission to save people, I'll start pushing the limits. I don't want to look at someone who's twenty and decide they have to die because they're too old to deserve being saved."

"So maybe we save more lives than intended. That doesn't seem like such a bad thing."

"Should I save someone like Barbos? Or Ragou?"

Judith frowned a little. "Hm… I wouldn't. They cause more harm than good."

Flynn ran his fingers through the grass, thinking. "I agree. But people can't be neatly sorted into good people and bad people. We can't just say we'll save the good people and let the bad ones die because they hurt the good ones. It's easy to say we should save someone like Karol but let Barbos die, but so many other people fall somewhere in the middle. Where do we draw the line? And then there's the issue of age. The elderly can't live forever. The nature of life is that the old must die to make room for new lives. What's the cut-off for deciding it's time for someone elderly to die?"

"I suppose that's a choice we'd have to make ourselves. I think I would trust you to make those calls."

Flynn nodded slowly. "Yes… I would trust you, too. But you're only the Ankou here until December thirty-first. I have no idea who will be next. And when the year 1700 comes around and someone new replaces me, who will they be? What if our replacements are vindictive or petty? If we establish that the role of the Ankou is to decide who deserves to live, can we trust that the people who come after us will use that power responsibly? The idea of a future with a spiteful Death who chooses who to take frightens me."

"Hm… I suppose you have a good point."

"This power we have to interfere with the natural course of things must only be used in truly dire circumstances. We aren't arbiters of death, just the clean-up crew. It has to stay that way."

"You wouldn't save Yuri, then?"

Flynn bit his lip. He didn't even want to think about it. "I… no." His fingers dug into the dirt. "Yuri is… very important to me. But I have to maintain the integrity of my station. I slipped up once with Ted. I can't afford to do it again." He remembered another conversation he'd had with Judith in this graveyard.  _"You're in love with him, aren't you?"_  How had she known? He'd denied it then, but she still brought Yuri up now. He glanced at her and the way her eyes gazed right through him. She still knew.

* * *

After rescuing Karol, Yuri spent the day helping Estelle with her nursing duties. When they stopped at Karol's house, he stood outside with the same guard he'd walked past that morning. The guard looked bored, and had no idea that the house was down one prisoner. When Estelle came out, she certainly didn't alert him.

"He's still alive," she said to Yuri as they continued on to the next house. "But I don't think it will be much longer." Once they were out of earshot of the guard, she added, "I told him that Karol made it safely to my house. He was really grateful."

"Was he still coughing blood?"

Estelle's brows knit in a small frown. "Yes…. He's having trouble breathing."

"I didn't think plague did that."

"It's really uncommon, but sometimes the plague infects people's lungs or blood. That's what pneumonic or septicaemic plague means. When that happens, there's really nothing we can do." She hung her head. "I've never heard of anyone surviving if they have those forms of plague."

"Damn…."

It seemed to Yuri that there were fewer houses to visit than there had been on previous rounds. He took this as a good sign. His spirits had risen with the rescue of Karol, and the fact that they didn't find any dead bodies that day helped them stay afloat. Things were getting better. Everything was still shit because they'd sunk to some extreme lows, but the current state of Zaphias was not as bad as it had been a week ago. That was a fact Yuri clung to.

In the evening, Yuri didn't feel like going home to an empty house. He wanted to preserve his high spirits of the afternoon, so he stayed at Estelle's house and had dinner with her and Karol. Rita also came over, and together they managed to scrounge up enough food to have a proper meal. Yuri took a moment to wonder if Flynn was managing to eat without him, but figured he could learn to cook himself if it was so important, or at least get taken care of by Leblanc or Sodia. Yuri pushed most of his food onto Karol's plate. The poor kid had been locked up for so long, Yuri figured he deserved as big a meal as they could provide. Besides, Yuri wasn't very hungry himself.

They sat around chatting and even managed some laughing until the sun set and Rita left for her own home. Karol and Yuri took their spots on the floor and Estelle retreated to her bed. The peaceful day turned to night, and Yuri fell asleep praying this awful summer was almost over. He hoped it was a sign that autumn was coming when he shivered and pulled the blanket close around him.

* * *

Yuri awoke in a cold sweat. Pressure throbbed in his head and he pulled the blanket closer to fight off the chill. Maybe he felt so terrible because he was lying on a hard floor. Maybe he'd breathed in too much sulphur today while wandering around with Estelle. Maybe the fact that he hadn't had to do any digging today had thrown his body off.

If he laid there long enough, he could have come up with a hundred explanations for why he felt so shitty. All of them were better than the huge, flashing reason that he didn't want to address. He wiped his sweaty forehead, feeling the heat. His arm fell back to the floor, exhausted from such minimal effort. Maybe he had a cold. A few hours ago - or maybe longer; the pitch black room made it impossible to guess the hour - he'd enjoyed a happy evening with his friends. The day had gone so well. Karol was safe, Estelle and Rita hadn't been endangered at all yet, and the course of the plague was slowing. It had been a good day.

Something Rita had said once drifted across his mind.  _"You know how sometimes the plague gets into the lungs? When that happens, usually if anyone else in the house gets the plague, they also get the lung typw…. I think the plague somehow… radiates from one person to another."_

Yuri shivered again. Maybe he'd eaten something bad and that was why he felt so nauseated. The image of blood flecking Mr. Capel's lips crossed his mind. He'd spent so much time last night kneeling at his side, trying to help him. How much longer could he deny reality? Maybe summer had faded fast and it really was this cold outside even though it was still early August.

A few feet away, Karol snored. Estelle was nearby too, her breaths slow and peaceful. Both of them were healthy and happy. He lay there in a pile of sweat and nausea, radiating his illness through the room. He couldn't do this to them. He especially couldn't let anyone catch him here and then lock up Estelle's house, condemning Karol to the fate they'd just rescued him from.

Yuri got to his feet with effort. His head spun when he was upright and he clutched the wall for a moment to steady himself. Then he stumbled to the door and walked out into the night. It really wasn't that cold, but he shivered anyway. He kept stumbling and was only vaguely aware of where he was going. His primary concern was to distance himself from Karol and Estelle, and where he ended up by doing that didn't matter.

"Hey. What are you doing out here?" The aggressive voice came from a soldier approaching him from the shadows.

Yuri shivered and tried to clear his head enough to reply. "Just… goin' for… walk."

The soldier came close, but when he got a good look at Yuri's face from the light of his lantern, he startled back. "Plague!"

Yuri's heart sunk at hearing the words aloud. There was still a chance it was an ordinary illness, right?

The soldier shouted in French and two more more of them arrived. The circled him, but stayed several feet back with nervous expressions.

"Hey," one of them said, "aren't you the bloke who tried to start a fight outside the gravedigger's house?"

Yuri was too out of it to think of a witty reply, so he just said, "Uh-huh."

"Heh. Serves you right."

"You're going back to your house, mister."

The soldiers used their pikes to prod him toward his street so that they wouldn't have to get close. Yuri stumbled but followed the one in the lead. He didn't know where else to go and he was not in any condition to fight three armed soldiers. He just wanted to curl up under a blanket and fall asleep until he stopped feeling so awful. Maybe that would be soon because this could just be a twenty-four hour bug. He could hope.

They reached Hanks' house - no,  _his_  house. Yuri had never bothered writing a will because until Hanks had died, he hadn't owned anything worth passing on. If he wrote it in wax tomorrow, would it be legally binding? He'd leave everything to Karol, he thought, with maybe a provision that if Karol was dead, then Estelle was next. And Rita, in case Estelle died, too. The soldiers opened the door and shoved Yuri in. He wavered and caught himself on the table in the middle of the room to stop from falling. Maybe he wouldn't need a will because he might still live. The door slammed shut and he heard the rattle of chains locking it. They certainly didn't think he was going to live.

"I'm not… gonna die," Yuri whispered to himself. He wanted to shout at the soldiers for locking him in when it wasn't even confirmed he had the plague, and he wanted to sit awake and regain his energy to prove he wasn't as sick as he felt, but his muscles felt like soggy bread and his stomach longed to purge itself of all its contents. Maybe he should let it. Maybe he'd eaten some bad mussels at dinner and throwing up would solve the whole issue. He wasn't going to die. Just get through this night of nausea and everything would be fine.

With that determination in mind, he dragged himself to the stairs to head up to the sleeping area and the chamber pot by his bed. He was  _not_  going to die.

* * *

When Yuri opened his eyes, a demon was in his face. He startled and tried to punch it, but his arm was too weak to do more than lightly flail at its shoulder. This turned out to be a good thing, because the demon was Rita.

"Yuri! It's just me. Calm down."

Yuri blinked a few times and, having fully emerged for the haze of sleep, recognized her doctor mask. "S-sorry." Phlegm coated his throat and he began to cough, each one sending throbs of pain through his chest.

Rita backed away as he coughed. He tried to sit up in bed, but lifting his head made the nausea worse so he just turned his head and coughed into his fist. When he was finally able to breathe uninterrupted, he pulled his hand away and saw specks of blood on his curled hands. Maybe… maybe it wasn't as serious as it looked.

"Why did you sneak out last night? You worried Estelle sick." She banged her stick on the floor.

"Didn't wanna… get 'em sick." Yuri lay in his bed against the wall, shivering.

"Idiot. Wandering around in the middle of the night while sick is the stupidest thing you can do." Her face was hidden behind the mask, but Yuri could imagine the mix of frustration and worry on it. "You should have come straight to me. I could have told you if you just had a bad oyster or if you have…."

Yuri tried to meet her eyes through the lenses of the mask and tried to make his expression defiant. "Well, doc? Can you diagnose me now?" After saying such a long sentence, he had to take a deep breath. This was a mistake, because his chest tightened and burned and set off another coughing fit.

When he finished, Rita approached and took his wrist in a gloved hand. She stared stared at the blood and when she dropped his arm, it flopped lifelessly to the straw mattress. "Does it hurt when you caught?"

Yuri nodded slowly and faintly rubbed his ribs. "Yeah. And when I breathe."

"What other symptoms do you have?"

"Hng… head hurts. Threw up last night. I feel like shit."

She leaned in close to inspect his pale and sweaty face. "Fever?"

"Think so."

Rita stared at him for a prolonged moment, her expression invisible. Then she turned and sat on the mattress, the straw crumpling beneath her. "Dammit, Yuri. You had to go staying in Karol's house, didn't you?"

"Hm?"

"You've got pneumonic plague. The type that goes into your lungs. I'm about ninety-five percent sure of it."

It wasn't surprising news, but the weight of the confirmation shocked him nonetheless. Blood rushed in his ears and his heart thumped against his ribs. "Oh…. Shit." He coughed more, each one making his chest ache more and more. "Is there… anything I can do?"

Rita shook her head. Her voice was muffled by the mask, but he was acutely attuned to everything she had to say. "You're… going to die, Yuri."

Yuri forced a breath. "How long?"

"A few days, probably. A week at most if you're lucky. Pneumonic plague works fast."

Yuri wasn't going to count on luck for himself. Just as well, though. If death was coming, better to get it out of the way rather than lie here feeling miserable for a few more days. "Alright."

"'Alright'? That's all you have to say? You're dying, Yuri!"

"Yeah." When Yuri was young, someone had pointed at the mast of a ship disappearing over the horizon and explained that it was because the world was actually round like a ball, and the reason it looked flat was that the ball was so huge that tiny humans couldn't see the curve. Yuri was still not entirely convinced of this. As an adult, he understood that it had to be round because otherwise he'd be able to see ships all the way to England, but the scale of what he knew to be true was so beyond him that it didn't feel real.

He was alive now. Every pained breath reminded him that he was still breathing. The idea of this not being the case a few days from now was inconceivable.

"I was going to tell you to stay in bed and rest." Rita still sat near him, shoulders slumped. "But it honestly doesn't matter. You're gonna die no matter what, so if you have the urge to dance around, do it if you want. Just… make yourself comfortable for the next few days."

Yuri took another pained breath and wondered if that was even possible. "I'll do my best. And, Rita… don't tell Karol I got it from his house."

"Yeah. I won't." Rita stood and hesitated next to his bed. Her arms shifted and she seemed to be toying with how to say goodbye. "I'm gonna… go. I have to visit other houses."

"Sure." He'd rather she didn't stay anyway. She had no idea how to behave around him now that he was dying, and he didn't want to spent time with awkward, sensitive Rita. Her being affectionate would just make him feel worse.

"Well… bye." She turned quickly and hurried out of the room. Just the strain of her voice was enough to make Yuri feel like shit.

Then she was gone and Yuri lay in bed, gazing at the wooden rafters. What was he supposed to think? He was going to die in just a few days. It was too sudden and too fast to really process. Yesterday, things were looking up and the end was in sight. Well, the end was still in sight now, but it turned out the light at the end of the tunnel was a bonfire. At the same time, he couldn't say this was entirely out of the blue. When the town around him had been dropping like flies for months, it seemed natural that he'd get hit with it eventually. Maybe it was better this way. Now, he wouldn't have to deal with trying to restart a life post-plague with no Hanks, or Ted, or Mari and the baby.

But he couldn't just lie here. He was only going to get sicker and less able to get up, and before he reached that point, he had to make some record of his plans for Karol to inherit everything. Yuri decided to wait a minute and build up the strength to get out of bed, and eventually realized it had been at least five minutes and that strength wasn't building up. He pushed himself out of bed and wobbled once upright. His pulse throbbed in his ears and he staggered forward. Moving downstairs was frightening, and he clung to the railing all the way to avoid falling. His weakness infuriated him, and left him feeling like a shadow of his real self. It wasn't fair that he as going to die in a few days and I couldn't even enjoy them.

Downstairs, he reached the table and fell into a chair. Luckily, he'd left his wax tablet here and didn't have to go searching. He flopped the cover open and picked up the stylus with trembling fingers. He was never going to see Karol again. There was no way for him to visit Yuri in a quarantined house. If he had known chatting after dinner would be the last time he'd ever talk to Karol, he would have said something more significant than, "I'm pooped; see you tomorrow." He didn't have the space on the tablet to write everything he wanted to say to all his friends, nor did he have the literary confidence to write it. He would keep this simple.

_I'm leaving everything I one to Karol Capel._

_Karol - make the most of it._

_Rita - thanks for lots of help. Good luck with the bare greese_

_Estelle - your the best nurse in zaphias. Never blame yourself. Sorry for leeving you._

Yuri dropped the stylus and turned away to cough. Ugh, every cough was like knives in his chest. His arm hurt; just the energy it took to write had drained him. At least he was finished; everyone else he might have wanted to leave a message for was already dead. Except….

Yuri stared at the wax for a long time. Did he want to leave anything for Flynn? It was sometimes hard to believe that it had only been about seven months ago that he leaned on the garden wall and watched the rich newcomer move into his house. He imagined trying to tell the Yuri of that day how he would feel about Flynn six months later and knew it would be impossible. He wished he hadn't fallen so deeply in love with Flynn; it would have made his anger at him shallower, too, and easier to bear. After everything, though, it didn't feel right to leave Flynn with nothing. After another minute of deliberation, he began to carefully write.

_Flynn - I understand why you won't help. I just don't like it. Our convo that day was cut short so let me finish it now (even tho when you read this im alredy dead. Sorry about that). I wanted to kiss you that day. Still kinda do. Too bad im dying and you're a fuckhead. Maybe in another life._

Yuri let the stylus fall from his fingers. He didn't have the strength to write anything more. This would have to do. He intended to go back to bed, but the thought of moving upstairs overwhelmed him. He'd go in a minute. For now, he'd put his head down and rest.

* * *

Flynn was in his study, writing his own entry in the journal that he'd inherited from Niren. Maybe an Ankou in the future would benefit from learning how the plague progressed in this town, or reading about his thoughts on the duties of the Ankou to stay impartial. He dipped his quill in the ink to start another line, but a knock at the door interrupted him. Flynn hastily set the quill back in the ink before it could drip on the old paper.

"Yes?"

Leblanc opened the door. "Sorry to interrupt, sir, but Miss Estelle is at the door and says she needs to talk to you."

Flynn frowned. "Did she say what about?"

"No, sir, only that it's important. And, uh… she seems rather upset."

Dread blossomed his his chest. "I see." He made his way downstairs, but slowly. He didn't really want to know what Estelle was going to tell him. She stood in the front hall, hugging herself and biting her lip as she looked around. When she saw Flynn approach, her face turned ashen. For a moment, they were both silent.

"What happened?" Flynn asked.

Estelle's mouth hung open for a second before she she forced herself to speak. "It's… Yuri. I know you two are fighting, but… I thought you'd want to know. He - he has the plague."

The only reason Flynn didn't crumple was because he'd had the entire walk downstairs to prepare himself for this news. "We can… hope for the best," he said lamely.

Estelle swallowed heavily and shook her head. "It's in his lungs."

Tension left all of Flynn's muscles. So. Yuri was going to die. He'd spent the last thirty years surrounded by death every day, and he'd thought he'd numbed himself to the grief of it. The knowledge that Yuri had only days left made him feel like a fresh Ankou all over again. "Thank you for telling me," he mumbled. "Have you seen him?"

She nodded. "I brought him food this morning. He… he seems to be doing ok, considering…. I mean, he was sitting up at the table when I entered. He wouldn't let me get close to him because he doesn't want me to get sick."

"Of course." Yuri always put others before himself, even when he was dying. No wonder he'd fallen in love with him.

Flynn had never used the phrase 'in love' with Yuri before, but it was true, wasn't it? That rainy day, before Hanks got sick and everything went to hell, he'd finally admitted to himself that he liked Yuri as more than just a friend. But now he had to admit that it was more than just a crush, too. He adored Yuri and everything about him, even the infuriating things. He wanted nothing more than to spend many years at Yuri's side, having a partner to get him through the loneliness of his position. He finally knew this about himself, but Yuri was about to slip away and there was nothing he could do about it.

"Excuse me," he said softly. "I'd… like to be alone for today."

"Yes, of course. I… I'll let you know when he, um, how he's doing, ok?"

Flynn nodded and thanked her, and then wandered to his sitting room to think. As he got comfortable in one of the armchairs, he gazed at the empty one next to him and recalled a night only a few months ago when he and Yuri had sat here getting drunk on wine. He thought about lazy afternoons with Yuri lying on the floor with a book and working through the words. They'd had so many quiet days together in which to talk about how they felt, but they'd squandered all of them. By the end of the week, Yuri would be dead. Coming back to Zaphias really had been a mistake.

But… Yuri didn't have to die, a traitorous thought reminded him. Flynn turned his hands over and imagined the life-giving power they contained. He could banish the plague from Yuri's body and preserve his life. He was the Ankou; he had the power to manipulate life and death.

Flynn clenched his hands together. He'd already decided not to. Yuri had demanded to know what Flynn would do if he were the one dying, and Flynn had spoken truthfully. He really did want to save Yuri, but he just… couldn't. If he saved Yuri, he would have no excuse to not save anyone else. He'd discussed this at length with Judith and he still felt confident in his decision. It was not - it  _could_  not - be up to the Ankou to decide who lived and who died. He could not sacrifice the integrity of the position and risk kicking off an avalanche of interference in future generations just to save Yuri. He loved Yuri more than he'd cared for anyone he'd met after death, but a situation being personal was not the same as it being important. For the sake of everything he believed, he had to let Yuri die.

Flynn pulled his legs onto the cushion, turned his head, and buried it into the back of the chair. A situation not being important was not the same as it not being worthy of crying over.


	15. Life

Flynn tried to be happy that the plague was abating. Every week, the bill of death was posted on the door of the church. All summer, the names had filled the page and it served as a constant reminder to residents that the population of Zaphias was quickly dwindling. Now, the bill was shrinking. They were dropping back to the numbers they'd had in May, and everyone expected the town to be declared plague-free and opened from quarantine in a few more weeks. All in all, life in Zaphias was the best it had been since May.

But Flynn couldn't join the celebration. While the plague was slowing down, it was not gone yet and at least a dozen more deaths were expected. Among them would be Yuri. Flynn sat on the battlements overlooking the beach two days after Yuri fell ill and tried to come to terms with his impending death. He would have to face this eventually, he told himself. Flynn still had seventy years to go, while Yuri would likely have had less than sixty even if he never caught any illnesses. This was inevitable. Better to get through Yuri's death now, when they had only seven months of history, than decades from now.

This thought failed to reassure him.

He caught movement out of the corner of his eye and startled; no one should know he was up here when he was invisible. But it was Judith who strolled toward him, looking like she was taking a casual walk and happened to bump into him even though he was sitting in a crenellation at a dead end section of wall.

"Good afternoon." Flynn tried to sound pleasant but he was in such a dour mood that he didn't come close to fooling her.

"No one has died today," Judith said when she reached him. "And I don't feel any deaths coming in the next few hours, either."

"That's true. I'm glad."

Judith leaned against a battlement, arms folded. "You don't sound it."

Flynn clasped his hands and leaned forward on his knees. "It's been a rough few days, but it's only a personal problem."

"This is about Yuri, isn't it?"

Flynn stared out at the wooden shingled roofs and crooked chimneys. Plumes of smoke from braziers in the street drifted to the sky. "It's unprofessional of me to be so concerned about the life of a single person."

"Oh, I don't know. If I was still alive, I'd rather think the overseer of death was still human." She tilted her head back as if the warm breeze could still affect her. "When Death comes for us all, it's reassuring to know he isn't ending lives lightly."

"I wish I…." Flynn's brows creased. No, he didn't wish he wasn't human anymore. It would take away this pain, but it would also take away the joy of love for his next seventy years. He clenched his fists and bowed his head. "I wish I was more selfish so I could justify saving his life."

"Is this the first time you've fallen in love since you died?"

Flynn swallowed heavily. "It's the first time I've fallen in love at all." He'd never said it aloud before, but he felt no hesitation in admitting he'd fallen in love with Yuri.

Judith glanced down at him. "Not even when you were alive?"

Flynn frowned and picked at some grit on the stone beneath him. "There was a girl when I was a teenager. I was very fond of her. But we were young and then I joined the army. She said she would wait for me, and I never pursued anything while in the army out of respect for her. But then… obviously I never made it home to her. I think we could have fallen in love if we had the chance, but as it stands…." He sighed and shrugged. "Once I was dead, it seemed like a bad idea. I didn't want to start a relationship with an Ankou because they would only be around for one year, and I could never truly connect with someone still alive as long as I had this huge secret." But then Yuri had gone and picked at threads until his secret unravelled and for the first time, he'd let a mortal into his life. He'd felt more alive in these past seven months than he had in thirty years, and it seemed absurdly unfair that he was losing Yuri so soon after welcoming him into his heart. Flynn heaved a sigh. "Maybe that's why I'm reacting so harshly to this. I'm acting like a teenager drunk on first love."

"When my mother died… my father was never the same." Judith spoke to the sky instead of him. "She brought him so much joy. When she died, it was like the candle inside him was blown out. He was in his thirties when it happened - far older than a teenager."

Flynn wasn't sure what to say to that. It was reassuring to know she didn't think he was pathetic, but hearing that he might never stop feeling this loss made him feel worse all over again. "I'm going for a walk." He straightened up and took a deep breath. "Thank you for the kind words."

He didn't know where he was going when he left the wall. There were no impending deaths today so he had nowhere to go. Ordinarily he'd spend the afternoon with Yuri, but that was impossible. As he wandered the streets, though, his feet led him without conscious input to Yuri's house. Still invisible, he stood on the street and gazed at the tiny window at the peak of the roof where he knew Yuri's bed was. He suddenly knew that he could not wait until Yuri was dead to see him again. He needed to talk to Yuri at least one more time while he was still physical and real.

It took twenty minutes for Flynn to go home, fetch the crowbar he used to break into sealed houses, and return. When he did, he eyed the soldier sitting on a stool near the door. He usually sent Judith during daylight hours, but there was a window in the alley out of the soldier's view, so he thought he could make it. While prying the wooden boards away from the window, he used his power to muffle any sounds and keep the soldier none-the-wiser. Without too much difficulty, he wriggled through the small window and dropped to the floor in the main room. From above, he heard a cough.

Flynn made his way to the stairs, but he stopped at the table in the middle of the room. Yuri's wax tablet sat there, the stylus sitting abandoned a foot away. Flynn ran his fingers over the outer case, recalling all the playful messages they'd written back and forth in it. He wished that Yuri had an actual journal of paper, so that all their notes could have been preserved and he'd have something concrete to remember him by after Yuri was gone. Flynn flipped open the tablet and was surprised to find more writing. Yuri had really come a long way in just a few months. His letters were still messy, but had so much more confidence than when they started out. His eyes darted over what was essentially a will, feeling proud of how few words Yuri had spelled wrong. Then he read the message Yuri had left for him and his heart would have stopped if hadn't done so thirty years ago.

_…I wanted to kiss you that day. Still kinda do. Too bad im dying and you're a fuckhead. Maybe in another life._

Flynn had suspected that Yuri shared his feelings, but seeing it confirmed in writing filled him so much pained frustration he almost cried. He finally had confirmation that he and Yuri truly could have had a happy romance together, but it was too late. Flynn snapped the tablet closed. At least he'd seen this now, when Yuri was still clinging on. Yuri was clearly still mad at him, but not to the point of hatred. Flynn had a chance to talk to him one last time so that at least they could part on good terms.

Upstairs, he found Yuri huddled under a blanket in bed. Yuri was awake, but he stared right through Flynn. With a start, Flynn realized this was because he was still invisible. He took his hat off, let his cloak fall to the floor, and his Ankou abilities faded away. Now he was just Flynn, and Yuri startled at his sudden appearance.

"Je-Jesus, Flynn!" Yuri paused to cough and then continued, "T-trying to make me die of a heart attack first?"

Flynn tried, and failed, to smile. "Would it help?"

Yuri started to sit up, but had as much success as Flynn's smile. "Couldn't hurt."

It seemed absurdly cruel to Flynn that there was no one stationed inside Yuri's house to stay with him. Quarantine was meant to keep the public at large safer, but it resulted in so many people left languishing in agony, prisoners in their own homes, condemned to die alone. Yuri's face was whiter than his dingy sheets, making the specks of blood he'd been coughing all the more visible. Sweat gleamed on every bit of exposed skin, but despite the summer weather, he huddled under a blanket.

Flynn had been standing there and watching him silently, so Yuri said, "What d'ya want, anyway?" He snorted and made a face. "Here t-to save me?"

Flynn bit his lip and looked away from Yuri's wretched appearance. "No. I'm sorry, Yuri, but I can't save you. I'm sorry. I really wish I could, but I've made my decision and I can't bend my morals just because it's personal." He risked glancing back to Yuri. "I… I saw the note you left in the wax tablet. I just want you to know… I feel the same way." He glanced away.

To his surprise, Yuri laughed. It wasn't a very comforting laugh because it morphed into a cough that took almost a minute to fade away and left Yuri's hand smeared with blood, but it was a laugh nonetheless. "You…  _asshole_ ," Yuri croaked.

Flynn's heart panged. "I - what?"

"For… months," Yuri took a deep, creaking breath, "I had feelings for you. And now you gotta… right before I die… couldn't've figured it out a few months ago…."

Flynn tried to smile again. He had a bit more success, though it didn't reach his eyes. He lowered himself to his knees so he could lean forward on the bed, closer to Yuri. "I really am a blind fool, aren't I?"

"Looks like it. Damn, I have shit taste in men."

Flynn leaned forward until his forehead rested on Yuri's clammy one. "At least we have right now." He found one of Yuri's hands and closed his own around it.

"Heh… I guess there are worse ways to die."

For a long moment, they remained motionless. Flynn relished Yuri's closeness and even though Yuri's breaths were strained, each one reminded him that, for now, he was still here. He would never get another chance to be with Yuri after this, so he would savour second. After a while, he whispered, "Ask me to save you."

"Hm?"

"Ask me. I think if you asked, I would lose my resolve."

"Ha… no way. If you did, I'd lose all respect for you."

Flynn closed his eyes and rubbed his thumb in small circles on Yuri's hand. "What bitter irony… if I save your life so we can be together, you'd never want to be with me at all."

"What a mess." Yuri pulled away from Flynn so he could turn his head and cough. When finished, he looked back. "S-stay with me?"

Flynn pressed his lips against Yuri's forehead. "Until the end."

* * *

When Flynn woke up, he had to take a moment to remember where he was. Usually he awoke to dawn light streaming through the large window in his bedroom, but instead he found himself crushed against a wooden wall in a dingy attic space. A second later, he registered that the weight pressing him there was a body and with a start he thought, Yuri!

Flynn scrambled upright and banged his head on the ceiling beam that sloped toward the wall. Wincing and clutching it, he turned his attention to Yuri. He noticed the silence first. He'd fallen asleep listening to Yuri struggle for every breath, each one so painful but still assuring Flynn that he still lived. The absence of breathing now filled the room.

"No…" Flynn breathed, clutching at Yuri's chest. "No, please…." He of all people should have come to terms with the suddenness of death by now, but it still shocked him. Even though he'd known Yuri was dying for several days, he had always imagined Yuri's death happening  _soon_ , not  _now_. Tears were already welling up in his eyes and he hated himself for sleeping through it, and hated Judith for not waking him up to say goodbye. "You can't be gone, Yuri, please, Yuri…." Flynn leaned over and pressed his forehead against Yuri's cool skin. He could never have prepared for this. He was dimly aware that he was still talking, but the words were just something to fill the emptiness of this room and his heart. Guilt overwhelmed him. He could have prevented this. Flynn had been so certain in his decision not to interfere, but now he couldn't believe he'd been so stupid. All the pain Yuri had been through and all the pain destroying him now had been completely preventable.

Weight pressed against Flynn's shoulder. For a moment, he didn't even register it. Then the weight identified itself as a hand squeezing his shoulder and another cold hand brushed his cheek. Flynn opened his eyes and blinked away tears. Yuri was awake, looking up at him with a tiny smile.

"Y-yuri?"

Yuri's smile expanded. His voice was exhausted, croaky, but so very alive as he said, "I'm still here."

Feeling rushed in to fill the void. Now that he could think clearly, he realized the chest below his hands was subtly but surely moving. "Yuri… oh, thank God."

Yuri curled his fingers around Flynn's collar and tugged. He hardly had the strength to overpower Flynn, but Flynn gladly allowed his face to be pulled down until their lips met. Flynn could have stayed there for hours, but Yuri turned his head away after only a quick press of closed lips.

"Sorry," Yuri said when he saw Flynn's face. "My mouth tastes like blood."

"Alright." Flynn sat upright and leaned against the wall. For a few seconds, he was happy to just sit quietly and watch Yuri's steady, relaxed breathing. Finally, his curiosity got the better of him. "But… how?" Nobody recovered from pneumonic plague; it just didn't happen.

"I'm not entirely sure." Yuri's voice grew in strength as he spoke. "I have hazy memories of being awake last night and getting ready to die. And I remember a woman. It's all pretty blurry, though."

"Judith." He should have known.

"Did you tell her to save me?"

"No." He rested his hand on Yuri's shoulder, eager just to feel him. "I told her not to interfere with anybody. I don't know why she chose to save you."

"I can't exactly say I'm upset with her, but I'd like to know why she decided to save me of all people." He frowned and looked away. "A lot of people who died deserved a second chance more than me."

"You shouldn't discount yourself. Your life has just as much value as anyone else. Now, how do you feel?"

"Tired. Gross."

Flynn rested the back of his hand on Yuri's forehead. "You don't have a fever. I don't think you're sick anymore, just worn out. You'll need to take a few days to regain strength. Do you want a bath?"

"I'd love it, but I don't have enough water here."

Flynn frowned; his house had a pump outside, but Yuri of course didn't. "Right. Sorry. You can wash with a cloth, at least."

Yuri nodded and then started slowly getting out of bed. Flynn climbed over him to jump to the ground and then held out his hands to steady him. Yuri's grip was weak, but Flynn had woken up expecting it to be nonexistent so he took it as a positive. With Yuri leaning on him, they slowly made their way downstairs. By the time they reached the ground floor, Yuri was worn out. Flynn led him to the table and he slumped into a chair.

"I'll start a fire to warm up some water." Flynn concentrated on his task instead of Yuri. Yuri's recovery thrilled him, but he felt guilty about not regretting it. Yuri had been supposed to die, and Judith had interfered with the natural order of things. She shouldn't have saved him. Flynn knew this, but he still couldn't stop being grateful to her. It felt dishonest, though, like he was cheating the system. He got to keep Yuri, but he also didn't have to compromise his integrity. Surely this wouldn't be allowed to last, but who was going to punish him? He had no higher authority to answer to, which was precisely the reason he had to keep his position so impartial.

When the pot of water over the fire had warmed, he carried it to the floor next to Yuri. "Take your shirt off."

Yuri raised his eyebrows. "At least buy me dinner first."

Flynn was grateful he'd stood by the fire for a few minutes, because he could blame the heat on his face on that. "So you can wash."

Yuri tugged his shirt off. "Damn. You got my hopes up."

Flynn took another seat while Yuri used the cloth to wash away several days of illness. He felt guilty when his eyes lingered on Yuri's bare torso, but with a kick realized he and Yuri were not just friends anymore. "So… about us."

Yuri dragged the cloth over his face. The scrubbing brought pink to his pale cheeks. "What about us?"

"Well… about what we discussed last night. And… the kiss."

Yuri dabbed the cloth around his neck as he thought. "What else is there to say? We said we wanted to be together but it was a shame I was going to die. Now I'm not going to die, so… we're together, right?"

"I suppose?" Flynn frowned and fidgeted. "How exactly? Obviously we're not going to get married - or announce our relationship to the public at all. Are you content with a relationship shrouded in secrecy? That could destroy your life if it's found out?"

Yuri shrugged. "Are you?"

"If rumours abound about me, I can easily pack up my life and move to the other side of Brittany with a new identity. You can't. I have money and power - both social and supernatural - that makes this less risky for me. How do you feel about that?"

Yuri leaned back in the chair and yawned. "You know, ages ago I realized I never wanted a romance with a girl. I liked other guys the way everyone said I was supposed to like girls. But I'm not supposed to and perversion like that going public is life-ruining, so I just filed that away and figured I'd be celibate like a priest. No point ruining my life over a crush, right?"

Flynn nodded slowly. This made perfect sense. It was more cautious and logical than he expected from Yuri. What they'd said last night had been said in the context of Yuri's imminent death, and now the context had changed and he couldn't expect Yuri to risk everything just to be with him.

"But then the past few days happened." Yuri fiddled with the damp cloth in his hands. "As I lay there dying, I realized that one of my biggest regrets was that I'd never gotten a chance to kiss you. Against the odds, I'm still here getting a second shot at life. I don't want to be on my death bed wishing I'd had a chance to kiss you again."

"So…?" Yuri's thought process had taken an unexpected turn.

"So, I don't give a damn if it's risky. Obviously I don't want to flaunt things, but in order to make this chance worthwhile, I'm going to live my life to the fullest. Let's do the closest thing we can manage to a proper relationship. Assuming you'll still have me and that all wasn't just pity 'cause I was dying."

Flynn's heart swelled and his cheeks hurt from the force of his smile. "Of course I'll still have you. You should move in with me. Nobody has to know we aren't just bachelor friends. I'm notoriously reticent about my personal life already."

"Hm… no." Yuri ran the cloth over his arm. A few days of sickness hadn't been enough to wither the strong muscles and Flynn gladly took in the sight now that he didn't have to feel invasive for doing so. "It's not about you. All my life, I lived with Hanks. He left me this house and wanted me to have it. I think I'd like to live here, in my own property as the head of my own household, for a little longer before moving in with someone else. We can talk about living together in the future."

Flynn bobbed his head. As much as he would love to have Yuri in his house, he was getting far too much good news this morning to be upset about anything. "That makes complete sense."

Yuri tossed the cloth onto the edge of the bucket now that he was done cleaning up his top half. "I don't plan to be stupid, of course, I want to live my life to the fullest, but I don't want it to be wasted and short. So I'm not going to make out with you in the town square in front of the church. But behind closed doors, let's just make the most of it."

Flynn rested his hand on Yuri's knee and squeezed. "I would be glad to."

Flynn spent the rest of the morning with Yuri. Yuri complained about Flynn doting on him, while Flynn refused to let Yuri get up for anything. The last thing he wanted was for Yuri to catch some other disease in his weakened state. He needed to recover as soon as possible. Flynn stripped the bed and replaced the sheet, brought Yuri fresh clothes, and insisted he drink plenty of water. By the time Estelle arrived for her daily check-in, Yuri lay in a fresh bed, cleaned up and feeling generally well other than exhaustion. Flynn stood back, invisible, and watched Estelle gush over Yuri with a smile. She was baffled by his sudden complete recovery, and Yuri just shrugged and said it must be a miracle. When she left, Flynn slipped out the door with her. Yuri would be alright for the next few days until he was declared healthy and the quarantine lifted.

After leaving Yuri, Flynn strolled through town on his way to the graveyard. As happy as he was that Yuri was still with him, he needed to talk to Judith. When he arrived in the graveyard, he found her leaning against a tree with her arms folded.

Judith glanced toward him as he approached and then turned her eyes back to the branches above her. "I suppose you're here to yell at me."

"No… I don't like yelling. I just want to talk."

"I'm sorry for going against your wishes."

"I thought you understood why I decided we need to remain impartial."

"I do. You said we had to be impartial to personal emotional responses. Even Niren used his power to save a life for the greater good."

Flynn nodded. "Yes, but that was the king of France. Saving him prevented a horrible war from continuing to cause more pointless deaths. He didn't save him just because he personally liked the man."

Judith shrugged. "I can't say I'm personally attached to Yuri, either. I've never even spoken to him."

"And I didn't want you to save him for me as a loophole to my decision." Deep down, he had, but he didn't want to think that way.

"I did it because I wanted to, not because I thought you did."

Flynn rubbed the side of his face and tried not to get frustrated. "So why did you? You said yourself you don't even know him. He isn't relevant enough to the course of history for his death to cause terrible waves."

"Because I think his death would have destroyed you. You're a very good Ankou, Flynn. You have seventy more years to oversee the most important process in life. I didn't want to see your light go out. I feared that losing him would ruin your resolve and make you a worse Ankou in the long run."

Flynn stared at her for a second and then looked away. He deliberated the gravestones for a bit, mulling this over. "I'd like to imagine that I'm resilient enough to recover. I endured my father's death, and my mother's, and even my own… but it's true that it may have taken some time I don't know what decisions I might have made in the meanwhile. Thank you for trying to protect me."

* * *

The next few days passed with boredom. Now that Yuri wasn't too sick to leave his bed, he felt restless stuck in his house all day. There was nothing to do but doodle in his wax tablet and practice drum solos on the table. Estelle cheered him up when she visited with food and stuck around to chat for a bit, but she couldn't stay all day. The good news was that she could stay at all, though, because it meant she didn't have a pressing list of patients to see after him.

A week after he originally fell ill, Rita declared him full recovered and absolutely not contagious, and the chains on his door came off. The soldiers at the door gave him dirty looks as he waved on his way out. They had been quite keen on him dying, and he was pleased to deny them that. He blinked from the bright sunlight after being locked indoors for a week and strolled through town, whistling. Yuri felt an unprecedented fondness for Zaphias that afternoon. Every building he passed reminded him that he hadn't expected to see any of it again.

He hadn't expected to see the people, either. Near the church, he almost walked right into Mrs. Lagadeg, who had also been released from quarantine after she failed to get sick. "Yuri!"

"Afternoon. It's nice to see you again."

"You're not dead."

Yuri inspected his arm and then patted his neck. "Huh… yeah, you seem to be on to something there. I notice you, too, appear to be alive."

She didn't smile. "I heard you had lung plague. I heard you were coughing blood all over the place and it's a wonder poor Estelle didn't get sick, too."

Yuri shrugged noncommittally. "Yeah, I was sick, but I got better."

"How did you get better?"

Yuri took a slight step back from the intensity on her face. He'd never seen the woman so fierce. "Uh… I don't know, good luck I guess? The favour of God?"

Mrs. Lagadeg made a mocking, snorting sound and glanced toward the church for a second.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

She raised her head and looked at him levelly. "Everyone knows you haven't even been seen at Mass since June. If the Lord saw it fit to spare anyone, my Mari would still be here. If it was a supernatural power that saved your life, it certainly didn't come from heaven."

Yuri stared at her for a second, and she marched away before he could reply. He got the feeling that even after Ar Kometenn reopened, he wasn't going to go back and work there. His relationship with Mrs. Lagadeg had taken a real nosedive this past year, but now that every time they looked at each other they'd both be thinking about how much they wished the other had died instead of Mari, reconciliation was unlikely. He wondered how many other people resented him for being alive. The rest of the way to Estelle's he kept second-guessing the smiles and waves he got from from those he knew. The fact that there were more than a couple non-smiles, who stared at him like he was a ghost and muttered to their companions in confusion, strengthened his suspicion. Even though he had done nothing to apologize for, he wanted to anyway. If he hadn't talked to Flynn outside his house last January, he would be dead now. That wasn't an action worth saving someone over, but here he was.

At the town walls, he arrived at Estelle's house. He smiled when she answered the door. "Knock-knock; I know I left abruptly last time, but mind if I hang out?"

"Yuri!" Karol shouted from behind Estelle and ran forward. Yuri entered the house and had just closed the door when Karol tackled him in a hug. "Argh, I can't believe you! You just walked out without saying goodbye!" Karol squeezed Yuri's waist so tight that Yuri had the must trouble breathing since he'd been sick.

"Sorry about that." He patted Karol's head and tried to smooth out the perpetually upturned hair. "I just didn't want you to catch what I had."

"Sit down!" Estelle pulled out a chair at her table. "You can have a proper meal with us."

Yuri gladly sat down to have his first meal with friends in a week. "You guys seem to be the only ones happy to see me."

"What do you mean?" Estelle asked, cocking her head.

Yuri shrugged. "Eh, don't worry about it."

"I bet Flynn is happy you're ok," Karol said as he reached for a steamed mussel. "And Estelle says the plague is almost over."

"That's right!" she agreed. "In fact, I think it is over. There haven't been any deaths or new cases in a few days. I think Zaphias will be released from quarantine any day now."

"That's great." It was weird to think the plague was finally over. During the thick of it, it had felt like the world had ended and they were living in Hell. How could life go back to normal after so much death? How could they pick up and live like normal when not a family around had been untouched by tragedy? But this wasn't the first time it had happened, Yuri knew. Plague had come before and life had gone on. Maybe it could go on this time, too. He would never get his life back - Hanks was gone, Ted was gone, his comfort and family at the tavern was gone, and then camaraderie from his neighbours was gone, too. But… there was Flynn. He may have lost many of the important foundations of his life, but he'd gained a relationship that meant as much to him as some of the lost ones.

"How did you survive, Yuri?" Karol asked. "Estelle and Rita told me not to get my hopes up and that there was no chance."

Yuri fiddled with a mussel. Part of him wanted to tell them the truth. He knew he could trust them and they deserved to know - especially Estelle, who would stress over the idea that pneumonic plague victims could be saved if only she knew how. But, it wasn't his secret to tell. He couldn't betray Flynn's trust like this. "I don't know." He popped the meat from the mussel into his mouth. "I guess all my years of bad luck were just compensation for this one really good stroke of luck."

Estelle was visibly disappointed, but she smiled at him anyway. "Whatever happened, we're just glad you're still with us."


	16. The Hunter

On the twenty-fourth of August, Zaphias was released from quarantine. Everyone was pleased to see Barbos round up his troops and leave town. Yuri didn't stick around to watch the procession out the gates because he'd thrown a handful of mud from the recent rain at one of the men who had beat him up and then left before they could figure out who did it. Ragou moved back into town the next day, bringing carriages full of possessions that had evacuated with him. He said a few trite words about being glad to see the town had endured, but none of the grieving crowd even attempted to show enthusiasm.

The day after the town reopened and all plague restrictions were lifted, Yuri showed up at Flynn's house to collect Repede. Sodia let him in through the kitchen and he found Flynn with Repede in the stable.

"Hey, Repede." Yuri patted his head with a smile. "Are you ready to go home?"

"I think I'm going to miss him." Flynn leaned against a post with his arms crossed. "I like having a dog around."

"You can always come visit." Yuri was too busy rubbing Repede's neck to look at Flynn. "I'm sure he wouldn't mind. He's probably going to be lonely around the house since Hanks…." Yuri let the rest of the sentence hang in the air. Repede had no idea what had happened in Zaphias since he'd been locked up on Flynn's property. The dog was probably hoping to run around with Ted or sniff at Mari's baby, and Yuri didn't know how to explain in a way he would understand.

"I'm sure I'll visit you plenty of times. And you're always welcome here, of course. Will you go back to delivering food now that Ar Kometenn is reopening?"

Yuri looked up from Repede. "Oh, no, I think I kind of got fired from there."

"What? I thought you'd been working there since you were a kid."

"Yeah, well… it's complicated." As succinctly as he could, he explained all the drama that had gone on between himself and Mrs. Lagadeg, starting with Mari's pregnancy last year and her suspicions about the father all the way to his most recent confrontation and her resentment over his miraculous survival when Mr. Lagadeg, Mari, and Padreg had all succumbed.

"That makes sense. I can see why she hates you."

Yuri pouted. "Gee, thanks a lot."

"No, not like that!" Flynn waved his hands. "I mean, it's irrational to hate someone just for living, but humans are irrational, especially when they're grieving."

"I do know what you mean. Honestly… I kind of hate her for living, too. I have known her since I was a kid and she was always very kind to me, but I was always closer to her husband or Mari. There were four people in that household, and if any one of them got to survive, well… I wouldn't have chosen her." He didn't like admitting it because it made him feel like a horrible person, but it was the truth. "But I guess a lot of people feel that way about me. Everyone saw my house locked up, and now I'm out here, strutting around like I was never sick. No wonder I keep getting dirty looks."

"If you had died, I would probably pettily despise every person who survived the plague, too. Don't take it personally. After a few months, things should go back to normal."

"I sure hope so. Anyway, I want to get Repede home. I'll see you tomorrow?"

Flynn leaned in close to Yuri and give him a quick peck on the lips. "Gladly."

Repede followed Yuri home. He stopped to sniff at every corner, but considering how long he'd been cooped up, Yuri couldn't blame him. He stood by and let Repede sniff a trash pile when a man from Yuri's street passed by and paused.

"Morning, Yuri. Say, isn't that Repede?"

"Nice to see you haven't gone blind yet."

His neighbour chuckled. "No, not yet. I'm just surprised; I thought you'd put Repede down along with the other animals when the cull was announced."

Yuri frowned. He didn't want to admit he'd harboured a dog within the city, so he said, "No, the day of the plague I released Repede into the wild. I figured he'd have a better shot out there. But it turns out he waited for me and came back this morning."

"Ah, right…" The man eyed Repede for a few seconds, and then shrugged. "Nice to see you got your dog safe and sound, at least. My niece and nephew… well, they weren't so lucky."

"I'm sorry to hear that. They were good kids." Hearing that two kids had died didn't even shock him anymore.

"You have a nice day then."

Yuri nodded goodbye and then he and Repede continued home.

Over the next week, Yuri lay in the grass outside of town with Flynn, watching coaches loaded with overpriced furniture return to town as the rich came home from their evacuation. On one such afternoon, Yuri got tired of watching rich bastards dally on home after leaving the rest of them to rot and took Flynn's hand to lead him away from the road. They retreated into the trees until they came to the stream that ran out of the gorge, about half a mile from the town walls. They'd spent a lot of time chatting over the past week, but this afternoon, they could enjoy each other's company in other ways. Out here, far away from thin walls and prying eyes, they could stop worrying about what other people would think and focus on each other. Dry grass scratched Yuri's back while Flynn's chest rubbed his. In the back of his brain, he knew Flynn wasn't really alive, but the illusion of heavy breathing and a heart pounding beneath heated skin was convincing enough. Flynn ran his fingers through Yuri's hair while with every panting breath Yuri relished still being alive.

Later, they lay in the sun after a quick splash in the stream to clean up. Their hands were just close enough to touch.

"What happens now?" Yuri asked the sky. "Now that the plague is over and everything is going back to normal."

"I don't know. It will probably be a while before anything feels normal." His fingers curled around Yuri's. "Have you ever thought of leaving Zaphias eventually?"

"Not really. Why? Do you want to?"

"I will eventually. I can only stay in one place for so long before people start to notice I don't age. Then there's the situation with Alexei. I was able to ignore it for a while because he was locked outside of town, but I worry now that he'll start prying into my past again."

"Where would you go?" Rather, where would  _they_  go? Yuri planned to stay with Flynn for as long as possible.

"I'm not sure. I considered Brest; it's far away from here and I've never been that far west."

"Brest…." Yuri had heard of the city, but never been there. He had always assumed he would never have the resources to travel, but being with Flynn expanded his life in multiple ways. "What if we went even further west. What if we went to Quebec City?"

Flynn turned his head. "You want to go to New France?"

Yuri shrugged. "It's far away from here. I can't even imagine sailing across the ocean. Estelle would love it, too. There's nothing left for Karol and I in Zaphias; what if we all just set off for the new world to start over?"

Flynn turned his eyes back to the sky. "I would pay for you all to take the trip if you really wanted, but I can't go with you. I can't set foot outside of Brittany."

"Oh." Yuri's perspective reigned itself back in. "Then it looks like I'm staying in Brittany, too. Brest sounds nice."

"You could bring Karol, and Estelle and Rita if they want to leave. But not right away, because you said you wanted to live in Hanks' house for a bit."

"Right. We'll keep Brest in mind for if or when people get too nosey about you here. What would happen to you if you left Brittany, thought?"

"Hm… I'm not really sure. I was just told that I can't."

"Would it kill you?"

"Maybe." Flynn considered this for a moment and then clarified, "That is, it might make me as dead as I already am. The Ankou is a being from Brittany - away from our land, I have no power and I'd fade away."

"Damn." The hand not holding Flynn's fiddled with a dead leaf. "And what happens if someone were to cut off your head here? Would you 'die' the same way as if you left Brittany?"

"I don't know that, either. Maybe I would fade away… or maybe I'd remain like Judith, still here but intangible. Or maybe I would just pick up my head and put it back on. I don't feel like experimenting, if you don't mind."

"Aw, and I was really curious, too." Yuri pushed himself onto his elbow and then leaned to kiss Flynn once again. He stroked the side of Flynn's face and wondered if having Flynn here with him was the universe's way of asking forgiveness for Hanks, Ted, Mari, and all the others. There were worse compensations he could have gotten.

When they were dressed, it was finally time to head back to town. Yuri had no pressing commitments since he was no longer employed at the tavern, but he would try to find something soon. Even though Flynn would gladly support him, Yuri didn't want to take his money. Maybe Rita could use some help in her shop, if he could bear the smell.

As they walked along the road, a coach came up behind them. They were already moving out of the way when the passenger inside stuck his head out of the window to yell, "Clear off the road, you snivelling peasants!"

Yuri stood back as the horses moved quickly past them and gave the pale-faced man with overly-styled shoulder-length hair a dirty look. The coach wasn't carrying much in the way of luggage and Yuri didn't recognize the passenger, so he assumed it wasn't a resident moving back in. "I wonder who that was."

"I've never seen him before. Maybe one of the rich people made a friend while out of town."

"Something like that, probably."

Together, they completed the rest of the walk back to town.

* * *

It was early September, the wind carried a crisp whisper of autumn, and Yuri sat at a table impatiently waiting for food. Mrs. Lagadeg had hired new kitchen staff to run Ar Kometenn and Yuri hadn't bothered showing up to ask if he could get his job back. He would have thought he'd be more upset about getting kicked out of the tavern he'd worked at since he could hold a broom, but he actually felt relieved that she didn't want him back. Working there without Mr. Lagadeg to run the place and Mari to chat over the soup with just wouldn't be the same, and every moment spent there would remind him of how empty it was.

This place had been Raven's suggestion. It was a bit more upscale than Ar Kometenn, so Yuri had never eaten here before. He agreed, though, because he hadn't seen Raven in months and Flynn hadn't restocked his pantry yet to make cooking at home enjoyable. Raven arrived a few minutes after Flynn and Yuri sat down, and he threw himself into the chair with a grin.

"Hey, kid! Good ta see you again."

"And here I was hoping that dying of plague would be I never had to see your ugly mug again." Yuri shook his head with a resigned smile. "Life is so unfair."

Raven laughed and slapped Yuri's shoulder. "I heard you were sick. Estelle said you were hacking up blood and then woke up the next mornin', right as rain. That true?"

Yuri shrugged and cast a quick glance to Flynn. "Yeah, pretty much."

"Well, aren't you a lucky duck."

"Hm. Guess so."

Raven hesitated, frowned, and said, "Hey… I heard about Hanks and what happened ta Ted's family is a real tragedy. And Mari and that little baby dyin' too… I can't imagine."

Yuri didn't feel like sitting around being felt sorry for, so he chugged some apple cider and said, "How have things been in the outside world?"

"Not much better, ta be honest. I've been stayin' up at Alexei's chateau but plague's struck every other town in the area. The countryside is crammed full of rich people tryin' ta get away from everyone else."

"Aw, were they crowded? Not much fun on their holiday to the countryside?" Yuri snorted. "How very sad for them."

"What has Alexei been up to?" Flynn asked.

Raven shrugged. "Not that much. He mostly stayed holed up at home during the outbreak, not taking visitors. If you're wonderin' if he's still interested in ya, then I think the answer is yes, but it's not pressin'. He hasn't mentioned it since the town reopened, but everyone has a lot on their minds these days."

"I see. Thank you."

Across the room, something crashed. All eyes snapped to a serving girl and the mess of plates and food on the floor before her. "I'm so sorry!" she gasped as she bent to start picking things up. "I didn't see your foot, sir!"

"Be more careful, you stupid girl." The man she'd tripped on was none other than than the man who'd nearly run over Flynn and Yuri on his way into town the other day. He grabbed the girl's wrist and yanked her up. "You nearly spilled on my boots. They're worth more than you make in a year, you wretch."

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry." She tried to pull her hand away, but the man held on tight.

"Why should I forgive a stupid creature who can't even carry a plate properly?"

Yuri was across the room before Flynn could reprimand him. He grabbed the man's wrist and twisted, prying it off the girl's hand and nudging her backward. "Hey. She said she was sorry."

The man rose from his chair and stood nose-to-nose with Yuri. He snatched his hand back with a sneer. "How dare you lay a hand on me. Do you have any idea who I am?"

"Uh… sorry, I'm just a simple peasant. I've never had the chance to study and learn to identify baboon's rear ends." Whoever he was, his French accent said he wasn't a local.

Flynn and Raven were already pushing their way around tables by the time he finished his sentence. The man grabbed the collar of Yuri's shirt and jerked him forward.

"You insolent street filth. I should have you flogged for showing me such disrespect."

Flynn arrived on the scene in a flurry of French. He pushed his arms between Yuri and the newcomer while Raven grabbed Yuri's shoulders and pulled him back, also speaking French. For a moment, Yuri considered how nice it would be to learn French so he could understand what they were all saying, but then remembered that speaking their snooty language would make him feel like a class traitor. The man was busy wiping his hand on a napkin to rid himself of the filth he'd picked up from Yuri's shirt and glaring at Yuri over Flynn's shoulder. Raven kept backing up until they reached the door and hurried out. A minute later, Flynn joined them.

"Yuri!" Flynn shouted as soon as they were on the street. "Do you  _want_  to get beaten up again?"

"Was I just supposed to let him assault that girl? She only tripped and she didn't even spill anything on him."

"Your willingness to jump in and save her is admirable, but you gotta get a sense of self-preservation." Raven shook his head. "That man - that's Monsieur Cumore, from the south. I don't know what he's here for, but Alexei invited him. They were chattin' at the chateau last night."

"He's not staying at the chateau?" Flynn asked.

Raven shook his head. "I don't think he's a noble and I didn't get the impression he's here as a personal guest. All I heard was that he has full control over the local guards as much as he needs."

Yuri frowned. "That's ominous. What would he need them for?"

Raven shrugged. "Who knows?"

"We just got rid of Barbos," Flynn said. "Another foreign military man running the town is the last thing we need."

"Yeah," Raven said, "so try not ta make things worse by aggravatin' him."

They started walking away and Yuri grumbled, "We didn't even get our dinner."

"If you hadn't started a fight, we would have," Flynn said.

"I know another place," Raven said. "Let's go there instead and maybe Yuri can keep himself out'a trouble for once."

* * *

The next day was a Sunday, so Flynn spent the morning at church. Now that the plague was over, there was no longer the excuse of avoiding large gatherings to stay away. Yuri, it appeared, did not care because he was nowhere to be seen. Instead, Flynn sat in the pews with Estelle and listened to Duke's sermon on the importance of thanking God for relief from the plague. On the way out, he stopped to chat with Estelle next to the base of a flying buttress.

"That was a nice sermon, don't you think?" Estelle folded her hands behind her back and swayed a bit.

Flynn nodded once, slowly. "Yes… although I can't help but think that if God is the one who ended the plague now, He might have done so earlier…."

Estelle faltered. "Well, I mean, yes. But it was nice that the sermon was about life and how we made it through the dark and not the, um, assurances that Heaven is awaiting the faithful when we inevitably die."

Flynn snorted a little. "That's very true. We could all use a little optimism these days." It was uncanny enough to notice how much empty space the church had. Even now, the market square in front of the church was emptier than he remembered from last spring. During the plague, the empty streets had just been evidence of people staying indoors and avoiding each other out of fear, but now that the plague restrictions were lifted, the only reason for Zaphias' empty spaces was that there were no longer enough people to fill them.

While he looked around the square, he spotted Alexei near the church doors. He was deep in conversation with Cumore, while Cumore kept glancing away to watch the townsfolk stream out of the church. The expression on Cumore's face reminded Flynn of a hunter. Once again, he wondered why Alexei had invited Cumore here in the first place.

"How is Yuri, by the way?" Estelle asked.

Flynn automatically smiled at the thought of him. "He's doing well. He's regained his strength and you'd never know he was ill."

"That's wonderful." She clasped her hands together. "I still don't know how he pulled through, but I suppose we shouldn't nitpick a miracle. You two have been spending a lot of time together ever since, I've noticed. Are you going to hire him now that he lost his job at Ar Kometenn?"

Flynn hoped the warmth on his face was just due to the cloud passing away from the sun. "Ah… no. I mean, I would hire him in an instant if he'd take the job, but he doesn't want to be employed by me. I suppose he doesn't want to feel beholden to me, or like I'm his boss. I can understand that." He wondered if he should tell Estelle about the nature of his relationship with Yuri. Their relationship being romantic was even more reason for Flynn not to hire him. It was difficult enough for Yuri to feel on equal footing with Flynn in his big house and his supernatural powers; adding employment to the mix would just make things messy. He just wasn't sure if he could tell her. Flynn was almost positive that Estelle would be happy for them and not tell anyone else, but there was always the risk. In any case, he wouldn't do so without consulting Yuri first. So, he held his tongue and would let her believe they were still just friends.

After bidding her farewell, Flynn returned home. He wasn't sure where Yuri was, but if Yuri decided he wanted to spend the afternoon together, this is where he would come. Flynn retreated to his library to relax with a book, and about half an hour later, he heard a knock on the front door. Flynn put down his book with a smile; Yuri had arrived. He had found a book that he thought Yuri would enjoy, even if it was a bit beyond his reading ability. If they read through it together, though, Flynn was sure he could handle it.

He was already on his way to the front door when Leblanc met him in the hallway after answering it. "Afternoon, sir. A Mr. Cumore is here to see you."

Flynn faltered and his smile faded. "Cumore? What does he want?" Damn, he should have known. Yuri always came to the kitchen door, no matter how often Flynn told him he was welcome to come to the front.

"He didn't say. He just asked if you were busy and if he could speak with you."

"I see…. Well, I suppose I should hear what he wants."

Flynn found Cumore inspecting the wainscoting in his main entrance. When he looked up at Flynn, his face suggested he did not approve. "Finally you show up."

"Good afternoon, Mr. Cumore. How can I help you?"

_"Tu parle français, pas vrai?"_

Flynn took a second to wonder if he should comment on the audacity of visiting Flynn's home and then addressing him with the informal form of 'you', but decided Cumore was not someone he wanted to have this discussion with. Asking Cumore not to address him like he was an inferior would most likely result in Cumore telling him that he was an inferior. Instead, Flynn replied in French, "Yes, I do speak French."

"Good. I've only been in this region a week and I'm already sick of having to speak this peasant squawking just to order a drink."

Flynn hesitated once again, this time deciding it wasn't worth being insulted again to point out that the 'peasant squawking' was his mother tongue. "How can I help you?"

"I have an important matter to discuss with you. Where can I sit down?"

"My sitting room is this way." Flynn led the way, guiltily hoping for someone in town to drop dead so he'd have an excuse to cut the visit short and take care of it. In the sitting room, Cumore once again glanced around at the furnishings and seemed to find them shamefully sixteenth century.

Sitting across from him in his favourite armchairs, Flynn asked, "What do you wish to speak with me about?"

"Do you know who I am?"

"I know your name is Cumore." Flynn hoped he wasn't imagining the disappointment on Cumore's face that he wasn't more widely known.

"I am Alexander Cumore, witch finder. I've found and dealt with dozens of witches in the south."

Flynn careful kept his face placid, but inside his mind was rolling. A witch finder? He'd heard stories about witch hunts spiralling out of control in the Holy Roman Empire, but the French parlement, the high court, was allegedly trying to put a stop to them in France. Flynn had a sinking feeling he knew why Alexei had invited him here, and that Raven had been wrong about Alexei not worrying about Flynn at the moment. "What brings a witch finder to Zaphias?"

Cumore folded his hands on his lap. "Your lord requested I come and offer my services. He said he feared a witch lurks in town and was the cause of the plague."

"A witch?" Flynn raised his eyebrows. "The plague spread across all of France. We're hardly the only town to have experienced it. Were witches to blame in every other town as well?"

"Possibly. And perhaps Zaphias would have been spared but your local witch took advantage of the epidemic to hide their work."

"So what does this have to do with me?" Flynn had a bad feeling that he knew.

Cumore smiled at him the way a spider smiles at a fly. "Lord Dinoia recommended I begin my inquests with the mysterious Mr. Scifo, who barged into town with a past full of holes."

Flynn carefully folded his hands and kept his expression neutral. "Has an allegation been made against me?" He didn't breathe while waiting for the answer. This situation could get very bad very fast, and if there was already an accusation, those wheels would be even more greased.

"Not as such," Cumore admitted and Flynn breathed again. "Lord Dinoia was unable to provide any concrete evidence or accusation, only that he finds your presence in town full of suspicion."

"My past is my own business, but I can assure it doesn't involve witchcraft."

Cumore leaned forward. "Where were you on Saturday night?"

"I went for dinner at a local tavern, which you know because you saw me there. Then I went home to do some reading and went to bed early because I had mass this morning."

"Hm…. Why does Lord Dinoia say your past is full of holes? A respected man like him would not summon a witch finder here over nothing."

"I share my name with my father. Some of our paperwork has gotten mixed up and made it appear that I was signing legal contracts at the age of five. This is of course ridiculous, though I commend the lord for being diligent in looking into questionable stories from his tenants." So, Alexei had not given Cumore any details. It made sense; explaining that Flynn shared the face of a man he knew thirty years ago would risk too many questions about how he knew that man. Alexei clearly suspected some kind of sorcery was at play, and hoped Cumore could find something else Flynn had done to get rid of him without exposing his own crimes. Flynn was lucky; this hesitance to cast an actual accusation just might save him.

Might. Cumore may not have the story about Flynn apparently being a ghost from Alexei's past, but he knew that any amount of digging would turn up some suspicious evidence. He expected Cumore to go looking into the same paper trail that Raven had investigated and wasn't sure if his story of sharing his father's name would hold up. Then there was the diary in his library full of forbidden knowledge and the fact that any living person who set foot in his coach would drop dead. Flynn was not a mundane human and it wouldn't take too long for a dedicated investigator to find something incriminating.

Cumore drummed his fingers on his thighs. "Do you have any suggestions for who I should focus my investigation on?"

Flynn knew how this worked. Cumore was here to catch a witch and he would be hard pressed to leave without catching one. Once he started investigating you, the only way to get him off your back would be to pass the hot potato on to someone else. Flynn was positive no one in Zaphias practiced witchcraft, which meant some poor innocent was going to be stuck holding the hot potato when the thumbscrews came out. Flynn would not participate in the wild pointing of fingers at innocent people, so whatever happened, he wouldn't accuse anyone else. If that meant Cumore pried into his life until he found something to frame as witchcraft, then so be it. He could flee town when that happened, but not before. He wouldn't leave until he could take the witchcraft accusation with him.

"I'm sorry, but I can't help you. I don't know anything about witchcraft and I have no reason to believe anyone else in town does either."

"Is that so? No one else stands out to you? How curious. I wonder how many people think you stand out, since apparently the lord does already."

"I wouldn't know."

Cumore snapped, "Where were you during the plague?"

"Right here." Flynn wondered if staying calm and meeting Cumore's gaze without any nervousness would be taken as a sign that he was confident in his innocence, or that he clearly had Satanic magic backing him up to explain why he wasn't a wreck of fear. "I remained living here throughout the epidemic."

"And yet, you have the financial means to evacuate. Why did you not leave with the rest of decent society?"

"I felt that staying here would show solidarity with the rest of humanity. The lower classes could not afford to flee and leaving them to die in quarantine struck me as an un-Christian act."

"And it had nothing at all to do with a confidence that you yourself would not fall ill? Were you not afraid of death?"

Flynn had to answer carefully because he  _had_  been confident he wouldn't catch the plague, but not for the reasons Cumore was accusing him of. "It was a concern, yes, but I put my faith in God and trusted Him to protect me."

Cumore snorted. "So you're either arrogant or a witch."

Flynn shrugged. "I suppose that makes me arrogant."

"If you have nothing to hide, you would have no objections to me searching your house?"

"I do, in fact, have a problem with that."

Cumore leaned forward with a smile. "You have pickled newts to hide, do you?"

"No, but I have business records, personal correspondences, and private areas of my home that I have no desire to share with a man I've just met." He pictured his little black journal sitting on the library table and chided himself for not putting it away more carefully. "You are not a law enforcement official and you have no right to search my home without an order from the magistrate." Cumore was probably used to dealing with peasants who had no idea what legal right they had, but Flynn wasn't just another poor farmer caught off-guard. He wasn't going to make this easy for Cumore. "Now, I would ask you to please leave my home. I'm done discussing this with you unless you can round up some concrete proof." Flynn stood to make it clear that this conversation was over.

Cumore followed suit. "I see. Thank you for your time. I will discuss your hesitance to have your home searched with the magistrate."

Flynn led Cumore back to the door and was glad to see the back of him. As soon as the door shut, he called for Leblanc and Sodia. They met him in the entrance and said, "We have work to do this afternoon. There's a good chance he'll be back with a warrant to search, and I don't want him to find anything that hints who I am. We need to hide books, paperwork, clothing I bought thirty years ago… anything that hints at how old I am or what my work entails."

"Understood, sir," Sodia said. "We'll get to work."

* * *

Flynn spent the entire afternoon running around the house and trying to hide anything personal. His desk drawer had letters from friends that he'd saved for twenty years and too many of his books discussed science ideas that could be taken the wrong way. Sodia was went into town to stock up his pantry, because he had hardly eaten since Yuri stopped coming three times a day and didn't want to explain why he didn't feel the need to keep full cupboards. Anything that might be suspicious was taken to the stable and stored inside his coach. If anyone tried to get in there and look through it, they'd be dead anyway and he'd have a whole different situation to explain.

It was approaching supper time when he finally declared the house witchcraft-free. The lack of personal items could be taken as suspicious in its own right, but it was better than the alternative. Flynn stood in his sitting room, looking around for any last minute item to hide in case Cumore showed up any moment now, and reassured himself that everything would be fine. Perhaps he was overreacting because he had grown up in the sixteenth century, when getting someone burned for witchcraft was a lot more common and easy. These days, the government frowned on witch crazes driven by hysteria and typically overturned convictions if you sent an appeal to Paris. Even if that didn't work, he could turn invisible, unlock anything not made of iron, and most likely couldn't die. If anyone had to have the eyes of a witch finder fall on them, it was best that it be him.

With his house taken care of, Flynn left to find Yuri. He needed to let Yuri know what was happening, plus, spending time with him would be relaxing after this stressful day. After informing Leblanc that if Cumore came back with permission from the magistrate, he was to be allowed a search, Flynn took off for Yuri's house.

He reached Yuri's house just in time for the front door to burst open and Cumore to stride out, followed by two guards escorting a handcuffed Yuri. Flynn froze, certain he was seeing things. What was Cumore doing here?

Cumore paused when he saw Flynn on the street. "Oh, Mr. Scifo. What a surprise to see you here at the witch's house."

Flynn vacantly echoed, "…Witch?"

"These fuckheads think I'm a witch," Yuri growled and jerked his shoulder away from the guard that grabbed him when they stopped.

Flynn shook his head. "This is ridiculous. Yuri? A witch? He's just a cook. Why would you even suspect him?" Perhaps Cumore was just being thorough and questioning everyone Flynn was in contact with. He'd spoken to Flynn at his house, but Flynn was wealthy enough to earn that respect and they were just taking Yuri in for questioning about Flynn. That had to be it.

Cumore held out his hands with a careless shrug. "You should consider yourself lucky, Scifo. I had just received permission from the magistrate to search your house when none other than this man's former boss, the proprietress of the tavern, came forward to lodge an official accusation. You're off the hook; we've caught our witch."

"No." Flynn kept shaking his head and moved forward, but Cumore put out his arm to stop him. "You can't say you've caught the witch when all you have is an accusation!"

Cumore shrugged. "Accusation, conviction, they so often mean the same thin; why quibble over details?"

They started walking again and Flynn stood rooted to the spot. His words meant nothing and he wasn't equipped to physically intercede against three armed men. Any attempt to do so would just make things worse for Yuri. He might have made things worse already just by showing up and proving Yuri had links to him. When he finally got his wits together, he jogged after the entourage all the way to the court house. Once there, they slammed the door in his face. Members of the public weren't permitted in at this time; Yuri was on his own.


	17. By the Pricking of My Thumb

Yuri sat in an old wooden chair with his wrists locked into cuffs on its arms. The court house was filled with wooden benches, but they were empty today. Before him was a raised platform with a broad podium, behind which sat Cumore, Ragou, and a scribe with a quill and paper ready. The soldiers who had brought him in stood behind him, in case he tried anything. Yuri wasn't sure what they expected him to do with his arms strapped to the chair and shackles on his ankles.

Ragou cleared his throat and stood. "Are you Yuri Lowell?"

"You know I am. We've met before."

"Answer the question."

Yuri rolled his eyes. "Yes, I am."

"You have been accused of using witchcraft to call the plague down upon Zaphias and worsen its effects. You are accused of using witchcraft specifically to murder Mari and Padreg Lagadeg and Mr. and Mrs. Capel. How do you respond to these charges?"

Yuri's fingers curled around the arms of the chair. "I haven't done any of that. All of those people were my friends; why would I kill them?" Where could anyone have gotten the idea he killed Karol's parents?

"We will be the ones asking the questions. These are all serious charges that must be thoroughly investigated. Your accuser is here today to explain what they know."

"What they  _think_ , you mean. If they think I'm a witch, they clearly don't know anything."

Ragou nodded to one of the soldiers who smacked the back of Yuri's head. Yuri automatically jerked his arm to respond and strained against the iron half-circle.

"I'm told you resisted arrest, as well," Ragou continued. "You fought the guards and refused to come willingly. These sound like the actions of a guilty man."

"I have no idea who this Cumore guy is. When a stranger barges into your house and announces you have to come with him, you'd put up a fight, too." Bruises were growing on his arms and torso from the scuffle with the guards who had burst into his house an hour ago. He still wasn't entirely sure who Cumore was, other than that he'd apparently been given authority by Alexei to find a witch.

Ragou sneered at him. "Don't presume to tell me what I would do. Bring out the accuser."

Another guard standing by a door to the left of the judges opened it and stepped inside. A few seconds later, he emerged with Mrs. Lagadeg. Her eyes landed on Yuri for a moment, and then she quickly looked away. She stood a few feet away from Yuri, facing the high desk.

"State your name, and how you know the accused," Ragou said.

She straightened her shoulders. "My name is Katell Lagadeg. I've known Yuri since he was a small boy. He worked in the tavern, Ar Kometenn, that my husband owned."

The scribe dutifully jotted this down and then Ragou continued, "And why have you accused this man of witchcraft?"

She glanced at Yuri again and then said, "He used witchcraft to kill my husband, my daughter, and my grandson."

"I did no such thing. Mrs. Lagadeg, come on, you've known me all my life. You know I wouldn't have hurt any of them."

This earned Yuri another smack that made his ears ring for a second.

"I believe Yuri used magic to seduce my daughter and impregnate her out of wedlock in order to bring scandal to my family. Then, he positioned himself at my daughter's side during labour, getting indecently close to her. He held my grandson only moments after birth. My grandson died only a few months later - I think he did something to the poor child."

"There was a blizzard." The chair creaked as Yuri thrashed his arms in fury. "Estelle and I were the only ones in the building! What did you expect me to do, hide upstairs and let Estelle try to manage everything herself?!"

Mrs. Lagadeg snapped her head to him. "And who made there be a storm?!"

Yuri gaped at her, not sure how to even answer this. "I  _summoned_  a  _blizzard_?"

Cumore spoke up to the scribe. "Make sure you write that down - he confesses summoning a blizzard."

Yuri's heart skipped a beat. "There was a question mark at the end of that sentence!"

Ragou added, "And note his vitriolic attitude. An innocent man would behave with much more calmness and dignity."

Yuri fought to rein in his fury. "An innocent man might also be pissed off to hear baseless accusations thrown at him."

"Mrs. Lagadeg, please continue," Ragou said, ignoring Yuri.

"Throughout the epidemic, I continually found scattered herbs in my grandson's bassinet. Later, I caught Yuri in the act of placing them. He claimed they were pennyroyal meant to dissipate the miasma, but I've never heard of anyone thinking that would work. They were actually poisoned, and brought the plague directly to my grandson and into my house to kill my husband and daughter as well."

"They really were just pennyroyal," Yuri insisted. "I thought it would help. Also, I never touched Mari. Padreg's father was a traveller who came to town during May Day and left soon after."

Ragou asked, "Do you have any proof of this?"

Yuri counted to five before answering to try to keep his response calm. "Do you have any proof that I seduced her with dark magic?"

"We have testimony from Mrs. Lagadeg that you did."

"But she just… she has no… are you kidding me?" The iron cuffs around his ankles weighed him down. How the hell was he supposed to talk his way out of this when the court used such bullshit reasoning? Light streamed through the windows set high in the walls, but the outside world felt too far away right now.

"And then Yuri himself fell sick." Mrs. Lagadeg turned her gaze fully on him this time and not an ounce of familiarity was left in them. "He was just as sick as my daughter or husband. By all rights he should have died. I heard he had the lung plague, and you know that one is always fatal. But then one day, he was suddenly alive and well, as if nothing ever happened."

"Is this true?" Ragou asked. "Were you sick?"

Yuri shifted in the uncomfortable chair and hated the way it made the ankle fetters clink. "Yeah… I was sick. But thanks to the nursing of Estelle and the grace of God, I pulled through. Surviving was pure luck." Yuri glanced from Mrs. Lagadeg to Cumore and Ragou, and then the scribe scribbling things down. Yuri yearned for a glance at the notes. This part of the story was the most dangerous one, because it actually  _did_  involve sorcery.

Cumore stared straight at Yuri as he asked, "Are there any other cases of miraculous survivals in Zaphias? Anyone else who survived pneumonic plague?"

Yuri defiantly met his gaze. "Not that I know of. If there were a lot more, they wouldn't be miraculously would they?'"

"So you have no explanation for how you and you alone recovered from a disease with a one hundred percent fatality rate? Just a yes or no answer, if you would."

Yuri stared back, bit the inside of his lip, and picked at a splinter on the chair. "…No. But-"

"That's all I asked." Cumore held up his hand. The damn scribe was scrawling away. "Well, Magistrate? What do you think?"

Ragou surveyed Yuri for a few moments and then said, "I think there is sufficient evidence to move this to a proper trial."

Yuri's heart plummeted. He hadn't really expected to get out of this, but hearing it confirmed still filled him with dread. It wasn't over yet, he told himself. They had just decided that Mrs. Lagadeg's accusations had enough ground to properly investigate. This wasn't the real trial and there was still a chance to be declared innocent.

Ragou didn't pay attention to Yuri's internal crisis. "Mr. Cumore, please take charge of gathering further evidence. We will hold the trial two days from now."

* * *

 

Flynn sat in his library, head in his hands.  “This is a disaster.”  

“Don’t give up hope.”  Judith stood behind him, leaning on a bookshelf.  “All that’s happened is Yuri was taken in for questioning.”

“Questioning by  _Cumore_.”  Flynn had only had one conversation with Cumore and didn’t envy Yuri.  He’d seen the ruthlessness in Cumore’s expression and knew that Cumore would only be satisfied when he’d found himself a witch.  

“Cumore is not the magistrate of Zaphias.  He can question, but he can’t be the one to decide guilt.”

Flynn dug his fingers deeper into his hairline.  “Right… that’s Ragou.  I don’t have much faith in him, either.”

“And parlement.  All witch trials have to go through parlement.  That’s a failsafe we can rely on.”

Flynn nodded slowly.  “Yes, that’s true.”  He clung to that hope.  “There’s no way parlement will sustain a conviction.  They’ll see through Cumore and Ragou’s corruption.”  Flynn never thought he’d be grateful for Brittany’s annexation by France, but here the national government might save the day.  

“That’s right. We don’t even know yet if the trial will convict him, and if it does, appealing to parlement will probably free him.  It’s too early to panic.”

Flynn took a deep breath.  “Right.  Yes. Thank you for the encouragement.”  He wasn’t completely at ease because he knew that the evidence gathering stage before the trial itself could be miserable on its own.  Yuri was sitting in a cold jail cell right now all based on a single wild accusation.  The injustice of it infuriated him.  He lowered his hands and straightened his back, trying to get his emotions under control.  

“I can’t help but feel responsible.”  Flynn couldn’t see Judith’s expression with his back to her, but her voice came out pensive.  “I’m guessing the biggest evidence against him is his miraculous recovery from plague.  Of course, if I hadn’t saved him, he’d be dead by now anyway.”

“I wonder if Yuri and I were just never meant to be happy.”  As soon as Yuri fell ill, their chances of a happy life together had been dashed.  First there had been the irony that the only way to keep Yuri from hating him was to let him die, and now the very act of saving him might lead to his death in another way.  Flynn wasn’t religious, but he had to wonder if there was someone up there conspiring against them.  

Judith left the bookshelf and rested her hand on Flynn’s shoulder.   “Hm….  I don’t know about ‘meant to be’.  I don’t like to think that our destinies are already written.  There may be additional difficulties involved in a relationship between a human and an Ankou, though.”  

“Additional difficulties… plague and witchcraft are certainly some difficulties.”  Flynn stood and Judith’s hand fell away.  “I’m going out.  I need to talk to Mrs. Lagadeg and then I’m going to pick up Repede.  No one is taking care of him while Yuri is in jail.”

The sun was setting as Flynn walked to Ar Kometenn.  In the distance he spotted the tower of the court house and tried to stop picturing Yuri imprisoned below.  He had just managed to stop thinking about it when he walked into Ar Kometenn, saw Mrs. Lagadeg, and thought about it all over again.  She was busy carrying a plate of galettes to a table, but glared at him as she walked by. Flynn hovered in the doorway and after she’d dropped off the plates, she approached him.

She folded her arms and barely held in a snarl.  “What do you want?”

“I just wanted to talk about what happened with Yuri.”

“There’s nothing to talk about.”

“Why did you report him to Cumore?”

“Mr. Cumore announced that he was in town looking for a witch and that if anyone had any information, we should talk to him.  When I thought about the idea of a witch in town, everything slid into place and I realized what Yuri has been up to.”

“You can’t honestly think Yuri is a witch.”

She tilted her chin up.  “And why can’t I?”

“Because it’s ridiculous.  He survived an illness most people don’t, but that isn’t proof of anything. People survive illnesses all the time.”

“They  _don’t_  survive lung plague.  Plus, I caught him sprinkling herbs in Padreg’s bassinet.  Enchanted, no doubt.”

“It was only pennyroyal.  It’s harmless.”

“And how do you know?”  She narrowed her eyes.  “Are you an accomplice?”

Flynn backtracked.  Getting himself thrown in jail for witchcraft would make it impossible to help Yuri.  “It only makes sense.  Plus, you’ve known Yuri all his life.  How can you think he would kill your family?  How could you condemn him to a witch trial? Are twenty years of knowing someone not enough to give him mercy?”

She sniffed disdainfully.  “I lost any hint of friendship for him when he killed my husband.  I was a fool for trusting him as long as I did.  Now get out of here, you are not welcome in my tavern.”

“I just want to-”

“Out!  You can’t just throw your money around and walk all over me.  I don’t want your money so get out of here before I call the guards.”

“I apologize for intruding,” Flynn muttered as he turned and left.  The hope that he could talk Mrs. Lagadeg into retracting her accusation had been fleeting, so he wasn’t too disappointed it had fallen through.  Even though he had anticipated it, her stubbornness still infuriated him. How could she have known Yuri for twenty years and then throw him to the wolves like this?  A cool breeze came through the September night, but it felt much colder as his mind fixed on a freezing midnight in December and the mix of shock and pain after being shot by a friend.  How was anyone foolish enough to trust people when humans were so quick to betray friends for selfish interests?  But then, he wasn’t much better, because he trusted Yuri without reservation and that was part of why it hurt so much to know he was suffering.  

At Yuri’s house, Flynn let himself in and found Repede sitting under the table.  The dog looked up and whined when he saw Flynn.

“Hey, Repede.  Are you lonely?”  Flynn lowered himself to his knees and Repede came over to lick his face.  Flynn rubbed his head and took comfort from his warmth.  At least dogs would never betray you.  “Yuri can’t come home tonight.  And probably not for another few nights at least.  You want to come back with me?”

Repede’s tail thumped on the floor.  

“Ok.  Come home with me and with any luck, Yuri will be back with you in a few days.”

* * *

 

A day after the initial hearing, Yuri shivered in a basement room with his wrists chained to a ceiling beam.  The shivering was due to the nakedness.  Nobody had bothered to explain what was happening to Yuri, probably because they assumed a witch already knew the routines.  This morning, a pair of jail attendants had arrived at his cell, ordered him to strip, and pulled out a razor.  Yuri had obliged, mostly because he didn’t see anything else to do given his situation, and braced himself for the worst to happen with that razor.  All things considered, he should feel grateful that the razor hadn’t been used on his skin, but having every inch of his body shaved and then  strung up by his wrists in a cold room made him feel a bit like a plucked goose.  

The door to the room opened and a small entourage entered.  Cumore was in the lead, followed by the two attendants from earlier, and the court scribe bringing up the rear.  The scribe settled himself at a small wooden table by the door while Cumore walked right up to Yuri.  His eyes wandered over Yuri like he was looking for something, which made it difficult for Yuri to not fidget with discomfort.  The fact that every other man in the room was fully clothed did not escape him, but Yuri refused to feel shame over a situation they’d put him in.  

“Like what you see?”  He met Cumore’s eyes without a hint of nervousness.  “If you wanted to get me naked, you could have asked nicely.”

“Don’t be vulgar.”  Cumore turned to one of the attendants.  “You incompetent imbecile!  I told you to remove all his hair; you left his head.”

The attendant backed away from Cumore’s rage.  “S-sorry, sir!  You just said hair on his body s-so I thought you meant body hair!”

Cumore whipped a knife out of his belt and the attendant backed into the wall, eyes locked on the shining blade.  

“Hey!”  Yuri rattled the chains as he got Cumore’s attention.  “Don’t take it out on someone else just because you gave unclear directions!”

Cumore directed his annoyance at Yuri, who wondered why he’d come to the defence of the man who’d put him in this position in the first place.  The man met Yuri’s eyes over Cumore’s shoulder, and Yuri spotted a trace of apology.  Not that it mattered; having one guy who worked at the jail think he wasn’t pure-evil wasn’t going to change his situation much.

“This pathetic Breton town can’t supply any decent assistants,” Cumore said with a wrinkled nose.  “I’ll have take care of it myself.”  

Yuri instinctively backed away now that the immediate threat to the other guy was passed.  The hair hanging around his shoulders was the only security he had left.  He’d been growing it out all his life, only trimming it when it got long enough to get tangled in something.  Cumore stood behind him and grabbed a handful of his hair.

“Don’t you dare.”  Yuri winced as the knife swished through his hair.  It tickled his back as it fell to the floor and then Cumore went to work on the chin-length strands that were left.  Yuri resisted the urge to thrash away from him with the blade so close to his scalp, and reminded himself that hair could be regrown.  There was no reason to get upset at this stage of the trial; nothing actually hurt yet.  But seeing his hair fall to the ground and feeling the cool breeze on his scalp made his heart clench.  

When Cumore stepped away and slid his knife back into its sheath, Yuri was glad the room had no mirrors.  He almost wished Cumore had been patient enough to properly shave him bald because that would at least look better than the disaster he had now of hair randomly between an inch and a quarter inch long, with no rhyme or reason to where the longer patches were.  Freshly cut hair prickled on his scalp and he reminded himself once more that hair could be regrown.  It wasn’t vanity that bothered him the most, though.  Whatever excuse Cumore had for wanting him hairless, it had also served to make a statement: the court owned Yuri now.  He’d lost control of his freedom and now his body, and it was only going to get worse.  

“So, what?” Yuri forced his voice to remain cocky.  “You have a fetish for shaved, naked dudes or something?”

Cumore gave him a disgusted look and then spoke to the scribe.  “When the devil makes a pact with a witch, he leaves a mark on their body as proof they belong to him. It might be disguised as a mole or a scar, or might be invisible.”  He reached into a pouch at his waist and pulled out a long pin, a bit thicker than a standard quilting needle, with a carved wooden handle.  “Luckily, you can always tell because when you prick that spot with a needle, it doesn’t bleed.”

The scribe and the guards nodded in understanding while Yuri’s attention focused on the needle and the understanding that Cumore was planning to stab him with it. This was fine, he told himself.  It was just a skinny needle.  It wasn’t like being stabbed with a knife.  They weren’t allowed to actually torture him until after the trial, so this would have to be tolerable.

“The devil tries to hide the mark under the witch’s hair, so obviously we have to remove it to do a thorough search.  But we don’t even have to look that close.”  Cumore grabbed Yuri’s hips and twisted him to present his side to the scribe.  “Here, plain as day, you can see the mark of the devil.”  Cumore ran his thumb over the twin scars on Yuri’s hip.  “This is where the devil clawed him to mark possession.”

Yuri jerked out of Cumore’s grip and twisted away with a clink of chains.  “It’s a  _scar_.  I got it from the spiky wall around Ragou’s house.”

Cumore sneered at him.  “A likely story.”

“You can go ask Ragou right now.  It only happened a few years ago and he threw me in the pillory for it.”

“The magistrate hardly has time to provide alibis for witches.”

“Good thing I’m not a fucking witch.”

“And on the subject of scars, notice how he has no scars from buboes even though he allegedly survived the plague through natural means.”

“I didn’t have bubonic plague.”  Yuri didn’t know why he bothered.  It wasn’t like they were listening to him.  “I caught it directly in the lung form.”

“How convenient for your story.”  Cumore rested a hand on Yuri’s waist and brought the pin to his skin.  “The pricking will find the truth.”

The small jab of the pin wasn’t that bad.  It stung like a bee and the droplet of blood that appeared when Cumore pulled it out was too small to worry about.  The second prick, a finger’s width away, was slightly worse because it built on the lingering pain from the first one.  Yuri flinched as it dug half an inch into his skin, and the third one was slightly worse.  Every time Cumore stabbed him, the tiny pain added to the whole like raindrops filling a cup.  By the time Cumore reached the scare tissue itself, a patch of skin the size of his hand was sore and inflamed.  

Cumore lowered his hand to his belt for a moment and Yuri caught a flash as he quietly swapped his pricking tool for an identical one, all disguised by fiddling with his belt.  Yuri wondered why he needed two separate tools that looked exactly the same, until he felt the blunt point of metal press against his scar.  Rather than sink into his skin, this time the pin sank into the wooden handle.  

“A-ha!”  Cumore pulled away with triumph.  “Did you see that?  This mark doesn’t bleed, and causes him no discomfort when it’s stabbed.  Obvious proof of the devil.”

“That’s a trick needle!”

“Nonsense.” Cumore turned go the scribe, hand going to his belt again.  He had his back to Yuri, but certainly had swapped the needles again.  “As you can see, this is just a standard piece of metal.  But do make note of his lies.”

The scribe dutifully recorded the conversation and Yuri bit his tongue to prevent himself from making this worse.

“I will now continue the pricking to locate any additional proof.  This will take a few hours.  You,” he gestured to one of the workers, “grab his leg for me.  We will start at the feet and work up.”

Yuri told himself to be sure to react the next time to prove he felt pain even if Cumore tried the trick needle again, but there was no need to act when Cumore pushed the needle into the sole of his foot.  He caught his breath and gritted his teeth; this was going to be a long few hours.

* * *

 

The night before the trial, Yuri sat in a jail cell below the courthouse.  They’d given him clothing again, thank god, but it was itchy and didn’t do much to keep out the chill.  Today had been… not great, but not bad either.  It had just been boring, because he spent the whole day in his cell.  Compared to yesterday, that was a relief.  Cumore must have stabbed him with the pin a few hundred times, and though it was never a very deep wound, some of the places he’d been stabbed hurt like hell.  

Pricking hurt, but it was a bearable pain.  Today, only the most sensitive spots still ached and he was sure he’d be fine in a day or two.  If they found him guilty at the trial tomorrow, though, those tiny jabs would look gentle.  When he had been ten years old, Yuri and his friends had been playing on the beach the day a young woman’s body had been dragged out of the surf.  Before one of the men could shoo the children away, they’d heard the dark discussion.  He only remembered a few words: raped, strangled, dumped the body.  It had been the biggest news in Zaphias for years, and half the town had peeped through their windows to watch the day the local guards dragged the young woman’s former lover into the courthouse.  Yuri had asked Hanks what they would do to the man, and Hanks had given the eager Yuri a vivid description of some of the tools the court would use to extract a confession.  A week later, Yuri had pushed his way to the front of the crowd to watch the man hang.  He’d staggered to the gallows, barely able to stand, arms twisted at odd angles.  He’d looked grateful when the hangman tied the noose around his neck.  Back then, Yuri had had been fascinated by the idea of the tools the court had.  Knowing they would be used on him if the trial didn’t go his way tomorrow put them in a different perspective.  

He stretched his legs out on the straw and tried to make himself comfortable against the stone wall.  He didn’t have much luck.  When they’d first arrested him, he’d been told, “The innocent have nothing to fear,” which sounded like a crock of shit.  If that phrase had any merit, the fact that he was innocent should have prevented him from getting stabbed in the ass with a sewing needle.  

He didn’t hear anyone approach, but suddenly he glanced up just in time to see a woman walk up to the bars of his cell.  She crouched to get eye-level with him and said, “Hello, Yuri.  Do you remember me?”

Yuri squinted at her in the dim light and then realized half the reason it was hard to see her was that he was seeing the wall through her.  He didn’t remember her, but figured out who she was.  “Judith.  Uh… does this mean I’m about to die?”  He’d had nothing but stale bread and watery soup to eat today, but he didn’t think it had been that bad.

“No.  You were already meant to die, and I fed some of my power into you to save you.  You’ve been able to see me since you recovered, I just haven’t been around.”

“Oh, huh.”  Yuri straightened up against the wall.  “So why are you around now?”

“Flynn asked me to talk to you.  I can’t walk through this iron door, but I could get through the wooden ones to get in here.  It’s very convenient to be a ghost sometimes.”

“Yeah, no offence, but I’d like to avoid becoming one any time soon.  So, what did Flynn want you to talk to me about?”

“First of all, he said to assure you that he’s ‘working on it’ and you aren’t alone.”  She lowered herself fully to the ground to get more comfortable with her legs tucked to the side.  “He asked to be your lawyer yesterday, but Ragou said witchcraft is an ‘exceptional crime’ where lawyers are not allowed.”

Yuri rolled his eyes.  “Typical.”

“Flynn will be at the trial, even if he isn’t allowed to speak.  He told me to assure you he’d be there for support.”

Yuri snorted.  Typical Flynn.  “I don’t know what good he’ll do sitting in the audience, but I appreciate the effort.”

“He’s been researching like mad for the past two days to try to find anything to help your case.  He won’t be allowed to represent you, so he said to tell you that in… 1601, I think, there was a hangman in Rocroi who was arrested and sent to the galleys by the Paris parlement for overzealous witch-finding.  Oh, and that three years ago, they demanded all witch trials be appealed to them.  Flynn is already drafting the letter to send them just in case you’re convicted, and wanted me to assure you that no witch in France has been sentenced to death by the parlement since they made that law three years ago.  So, you actually have pretty good chances.”

This actually was good news and Yuri felt a flicker of hope for the first time since he’d been arrested.  If his case had to be sent to Paris and they hadn’t convicted anyone in three years, his odds were pretty good.  Surely there wasn’t any more evidence against him than anyone else in France.  After all, he was not a witch.

“At least, that’s what Flynn said.  Personally, I grew up here and I know Ragou as well as you do.  Flynn’s got his head wrapped up in procedures and legalities, but do you really trust Ragou to do things by the book?  Especially with Cumore here.  He seems just as bad.”

Yuri’s hope faded again.  “Ugh, true.”

“Flynn also wanted me to tell you he’s thinking of you, and so are Estelle, Rita, Karol, Raven and Repede.  And tomorrow, please try to be polite and non-confrontational. Good luck tomorrow.”

“Thanks.  I think I’ll need it.”


	18. The Trial

They led Yuri back to the court room in chains.  This time, the rows of benches were filled and it disheartened him to see so many familiar faces staring at him without sympathy.  The only friendly faces were in the back, where Flynn sat with the rest of his friends.  They raised their heads when he entered and he regretted Estelle’s horrified expression at his appearance.  A few days in jail, ragged clothes, and a haircut that looked like a toddler in a dark room had been his barber was not a good look for him.  He sat in the same chair and didn’t fight as they locked his wrists to the cuffs.  He recalled Flynn’s words and for once he considered listening to him about being polite.  

Ragou began the trial by announcing the charges.  “Yuri Lowell, you are charged with using witchcraft to call down the plague upon Zaphias at large and directing it to kill numerous residents.  You are also charged with using witchcraft to summon foul weather and heal yourself after your plague backfired on you.  How do you respond?”

Yuri forced himself not to get angry or snide about these ridiculous claims.  As calmly as he could, he said, “I deny all of them.  I’m not a witch.”

“Very well.  Mr. Cumore, go ahead and present your evidence.”

Cumore smiled to himself as he organized papers on the table.  “With pleasure.  To begin with, we found evidence of the devil on his body.  On his right hip are claw marks left by the devil.  There’s also a mark of the devil on his left collarbone.”

Yuri silently fumed.  The mark in question had been left by Flynn a few days ago, but it wasn’t like he could explain that.  Claiming he’d been having sexual intercourse with another man would just get him in more trouble.  

“Both of these are evidence of making a pact with the devil and are undeniable proof that he is a witch.”

This was met with muttering throughout the court room.  Yuri spitefully decided that the reason Cumore didn’t recognize a hickey was because he was such a slimy, rat-faced bastard that no one had ever willingly touched him.  

“We will now hear from Mrs. Katell Lagadeg, the accuser.”

This time, Mrs. Lagadeg was led to the front of the room and directed to face the crowd, so Yuri could see her face.  When Ragou asked her to once again state her accusations, she took a shuddering breath, locked eyes with Yuri for a moment, and then directed her gaze to the wooden carving of Jesus on the cross mounted over the door.  Her words hadn’t changed from the first time Yuri heard them, and once again rage grew inside him.  Every accusation was such bullshit.  He’d never seen Mari as anything but a friend, let alone used dark magic to seduce her.  The very idea that he could cause a blizzard was preposterous, but he didn’t dare speak up to point out that if he could change the weather, why wouldn’t he have sent lightning bolts to burn down the court house?  Considering how this court operated, that would probably be construed as a threat.  

Then she got to the part about using witchcraft to kill Mari, Padreg, and Mr. Lagadeg.  Her voice stumbled on the words and Yuri watched her face shift from anger to pain.  Yuri couldn’t blame her; hearing her talk about Mari made his own heart hurt, too.  He pictured her smiling face and the way she’d glowed with joy when cuddling Padreg and tried to hold those images in his mind rather than go back to his memories of dumping her body in the pit.  That thought triggered a memory of standing with Hanks in the graveyard and how empty his house had been ever since Hanks died.  Ever day he came home, he had to remember all over again not to expect anyone waiting for him.  That pain of loss compounded once more at the thought of Ted, who’d been such a good kid.  God, there had just been so  _many_  deaths.

They were dead and he was still alive.  There was no justice to it.  Judith had saved him, but she could have saved all of the others, too.  In a flash of fury, he hated Judith for allowing them to die. The horrible, nauseating loss that swept over him in these few moments mirrored back at him in Mrs. Lagadeg’s face.  Hanks had been like a father to him while Ted and Mari had been like siblings, but what would it be like to lose a husband?  A child?  Ted’s mother had gone through that pain and it damaged her so badly she killed Ted herself to not have to endure a drawn out death again.  Yuri knew he didn’t actually hate Judith and already his flash of resentment was fading.  With it, the pain returned in full force.  Anger was less painful than grief, and hating someone felt better than admitting the world was just a shitty place where your life could be ruined for no damned reason at all.  No wonder Mrs. Lagedeg despised him; pain as great as hers would need exceptional hatred to temper it.  

When she finished, she wiped tears from her eyes.  Cumore stood beside her and said a few soft words, no doubt carefully chosen to appear like a reasonable and sympathetic man who was only in the witch-finding business out of a sense of duty to defend France from witches.  The fact that he carried a trick pin to falsify evidence was proof enough that he wanted to see people convicted of witchcraft no matter what; Yuri just hadn’t figured out if he had a motive beyond sadism yet.  

After Mrs. Lagadeg, Cumore had even more witnesses to bring forward. Yuri had wondered what kind of evidence they would be gathering beyond her testimony and the ‘marks’ they’d found on his body, but apparently Cumore had been busy scouring the town for anyone to come forward and damn Yuri.  The first person he called was the baker’s wife, someone Yuri had never had more than a casual conversation with and who couldn’t possibly have seen him to do anything remotely close to witchcraft.  He half expected her to accuse him of baking his own bread because it was cheaper and that was proof of the devil’s flour.

Instead, she told a short story.  “On the morning of the seventeenth of June, I was on my way to mass when I encountered Yuri Lowell in the street.  He was heading in the opposite direction, so I asked if he was going to mass.  He said he was not.  He then said….”  She glanced around the room nervously, as if she could be damned as well just for repeating blasphemy, “he claimed that the Lord was not all-powerful, or else cared not for humanity.”

Those words caused another stir throughout the room and Cumore waved his hand to quiet the crowd.  “Can you recall precisely what he said?  I assure you that if Duke were here, he would understand that merely quoting blasphemy is not the same as speaking it.”

“Ah… y-yes, sir.  He said that if the the Lord was all-powerful, no one would get sick.”

Cumore nodded and faced Yuri as he asked her, “And how many times have you seen him at mass since this conversation?”

“Never, sir.  He hasn’t been back since, even after the plague passed.”

Yuri suddenly regretted all those lazy Sunday mornings spent at Flynn’s house.  

The next person to be called was a man who lived down the street from Yuri.  Unlike the previous two, he glared right at Yuri as he spoke.  “Yuri’s got this dog.  He calls it Repede.  It’s a stray he took in off the street when it was a pup.  The dog was always roaming the streets during the day and getting into trouble.”

Yuri resented this on Repede’s behalf, because Repede was a well-behaved dog who had never caused trouble for anyone.  He was almost about to open his mouth when he felt Flynn’s eyes boring into the back of his head and knew that arguing would only make this worse for him.  The man saw the anger on Yuri’s face, though, and almost sneered as he continued.

“So then the plague came and the order came to cull all the dogs and cats in Zaphias.  We all did it.  All the strays and mutts had to be put down to protect the greater good.  I stopped seeing Lowell’s mutt around and figured it was gone with the rest of them.  Then a bit over a week ago, just after the town re-opened, I saw him coming home and what do you think he had with him?  None other than the same scruffy dog.  He claims Repede left town during the plague and just came back, but have you ever heard of a stray dog staying put outside of town with no one feeding it?  I’m sure he harboured it somewhere in town and used it to spread the plague.”

Cumore nodded, smiling.  “So you think this animal could be his familiar?”

“Oh, yeah, I wouldn’t be surprised.  It always seemed too clever by a half for a normal dog.  I sure hope you round up that beast and destroy it along with the witch.”

“Rest assured, we will eliminated all traces of witchcraft from Zaphias.”  

Yuri bit his tongue to keep from shouting in rage.  His own luck was shitty and he could cope with it, but they had better not come after Repede.  

Cumore approached Yuri.  “Lowell, how do you explain this dog?”

Yuri took a breath to find a non-inflammatory way to respond.  “It’s as I said.  Repede waited for me outside of town.  You said yourself he’s clever for a dog.  I assume he fed himself on squirrels; he’s not helpless.”

“And he just came back to you when called?  He’s so independent he can survive a whole summer outside, but comes back to you the day the town is re-opened?”

Yuri fidgeted, which made the chains on his ankles clink and unfortunately announced his nerves to the room.  “He’s a smart dog.”

“Cumore,” Ragou said, “have you found this animal?”

“Not yet.  I saw it on the day of the initial arrest, but it was gone when I went back.”

There were some mutterings from the crowd and a voice said a little too loudly, “The familiar is out roaming the town!  What if it brings the plague back?”

Yuri wondered where Repede was, too, but assumed Flynn had taken him back.  At least, he hoped so.  He didn’t know where else Repede might be safe.

The third witness called upon was a man Yuri didn’t recognize until he introduced himself.  

“I live across the street from the Capel house,” the man said.  “I ran into Lowell the day after the plague was announced.”

“And what was he doing?”  The amount Cumore was enjoying this was sick.

“I caught him sneaking out of the house when the Capels weren’t home.  He claimed he was dropping something off but I didn’t see him take anything in with him.”

Cumore looked to Yuri.  “What were you doing at the house?”

Yuri took a moment to think.  He couldn’t remember what he’d said to the man all those months ago; he barely remembered the interaction at all.  Telling the truth was out of the question.  There were too many stories of witches poisoning wells to admit to carrying around a bottle of arsenic.  He decided to go with something similar to the truth that they would believe.  “Pennyroyal.  Just like in Padreg’s bassinet.  It was just meant to ward off fleas.”

Cumore’s eyes twinkled and Yuri regretted his words.  “You admit you were planting the same magical herb in the Capel’s house?”

“It wasn’t a magical herb; it was pennyroyal.  It’s harmless.”

“And why this sudden interest in warding off fleas?”

Yuri shifted in his seat.  “Because… because I think fleas spread plague.”

This was met by a smattering of snickers.  

“And why, pray, do you think that?”

Because a ghost woman from the fourteenth century researched it and wrote her findings in a book he’d been given by the grim reaper.  Yuri struggled to think of an explanation that made sense.  “Just… a hunch.”  Unfortunately, that wasn’t one.  

Cumore stared for a few seconds to see if he’d come up with anything better, and then laughed.  “A hunch?  Did a little birdie tell you?”

In the back of the room, Flynn must have been cringing. 

“I thought it might help. I figured it couldn’t hurt to try.”

“You really need to get better at lying.”

The next person called up was a young boy who was one of Karol’s friends.  He fiddled his hands and then wiped a smudge away from his face.  Cumore stayed several feet away from the boy as if he radiated dirt.  

“Tell the court what you saw, boy.”

“Um… uh….”

His eyes flitted to Yuri and during the brief connection Yuri tried to shoot empathy his way.   _C’mon, kid, you know me._   Karol, Ted, and the other boys had followed Yuri around for years.  They were  _friends_.  

“Back in February… we were playing near the graveyard.  And there was a ghost.”  He scratched behind his ear. “It threw a snowball at T-Ted.”

Grief lit up his face at the mention of Ted and the next time he glanced at Yuri it was full of resentment and betrayal.  Yuri wondered whether it had been his mother or Cumore to convince the boy that Yuri had killed his friend.  

“What kind of ‘ghost’?” Cumore pressed.

“We didn’t really see it, but someone threw the snowball and when we went into the graveyard there were no footprints or nothing.  And Karol said we should tell Yuri because Yuri also said he saw a ghost in the graveyard.  So we talked to Yuri and then he told Karol that the Ankou was gonna take his soul.  Karol asked if he was joking and Yuri said nah and said, ‘it’s been nice knowing you’.”

“And then,” Cumore turned triumphantly to Ragou, “only a few months later, Yuri was seen sneaking in the same boy’s house for nefarious purposes and plague came to their house not long after.”

The fact that Karol was still alive and well didn’t seem to factor into Cumore’s assessment.  Yuri wondered if Cumore even knew that Karol was alive, but that question was answered when Karol was called to testify next.  Yuri watched Karol stand before the court with more fear than he’d experienced in ages.  If Karol had been convinced that he was evil and coerced into testifying against him, Yuri didn’t think he could deal with it.  

“What’s your name, boy?” Cumore demanded.

“I-it’s Karol Capel, and Yuri isn’t a witch!”  He gave Yuri a determined expression.

“I didn’t ask your opinion.”  Cumore rolled his eyes.  “Your house was locked-up as per the plague regulations, correct?”

“Yeah….”

“And when the house was opened at the end of the plague, you were not there.  No, you were seen the next day in the company of Yuri Lowell.  What happened?”

“Uh….”  Karol looked questioningly at Yuri, but even if Yuri knew a good answer, he couldn’t communicate it with just a meaningful look.  “I… I snuck out.  I wasn’t sick!”

“All by yourself?  You, a pathetic little boy, broke out without any outside help?”

“Yeah, that’s right!”

“Don’t be afraid, boy, you won’t be in trouble.  Lowell is the one on trial here.”

“Yuri had nothing to do with it.”

“This witch killed your parents, boy.  Your loyalty is unfounded.”

“He didn’t!”  Karol stamped his foot.

“There’s a report from the soldiers on duty who listed one plague doctor entering, one leaving, and then the next morning, one leaving again.  Their captain stupidly assumed a mistake had been made, but I think it’s clear someone snuck into the house and got you out disguised as a doctor.”

Karol went bugeyed and he fiddled his thumbs.  If only Karol had a better poker face.

“Witchcraft is clearly involved here.”  Cumore addressed Ragou.  “Lowell enchanted the boy and snuck him out of quarantine to use for his own purposes.  The child needs help to break the enchantment.”

“That’s not true!” Karol vigorously shook his head.  “Yuri is my friend and he only ever helped me!”

“I’m done with this boy.  Get me the apothecarist.”  

When Rita came up, she folded her arms and glared at Cumore with thinly veiled rage.  She wouldn’t look at Yuri.

“You’re the doctor?” Cumore asked.

“No,” she snapped.

“You  _served_  as the doctor, correct?”

Rita shifted her weight to her other leg.  “Yeah, I guess.”

“What did you diagnose Yuri Lowell with?”

Rita fiddled with her belt.  “Plague.”

“What type of plague?” Cumore pressed.

Rita looked to Yuri with an apology on her face.  Yuri couldn’t be upset with her; it was obvious she wasn’t up there by choice and any lies could be easily cross-referenced.  She grumbled, “Pneumonic plague.”

“What is the fatality rate of pneumonic plague prior to Lowell’s survival?”

“It’s… close to one hundred percent.”

“Did you provide any revolutionary treatments to him?”

She sighed and shook her head.  “No.  But just because I don’t know of any cases of people surviving doesn’t mean it doesn’t happen.  It’s not like every case of plague in the world is recorded.  Surviving pneumonic plague is rare but -”

Cumore held up his hand.  “That’s all I need.”

At the very least, Rita was the last witness called.  Yuri wondered what would have happened if Flynn had been allowed to be his lawyer and ask his own questions.  It probably wouldn’t have made a difference, he told himself.  Cumore and Ragou had already decided he was guilty, and this whole thing was just for the comfort of the spectators who needed to be assured justice had been done before the could enjoy a good bonfire.  

“Alright, Lowell.”  Cumore folded his hands behind his back and strolled in front of him.  “You’ve heard all the evidence against you.  How do you respond?”

Yuri suppressed the urge to shout about not being a witch.  This was his one chance to explain himself and try to fix this disaster.  What would Flynn have done if he had been allowed to represent Yuri?  Probably throw out some fancy legal terms and vocabulary and seduce them with his knowledge of French.  Fat chance Yuri could wow them with his education.  He would have to rely on just telling the truth.  

“As I already said, I thought pennyroyal would protect against the plague.  Maybe that was stupid, but I was desperate and thought it was worth a try.  Is it really that much weirder than the rosemary talismans Rita was selling?  And I know I haven’t been going to church as much as I should have.”  Yuri tried to come up with a story that would sway sympathy from the crowd.  “I lost the closest thing I had to a father in the plague and I found myself angry at God for allowing Hanks to die.  I want to rekindle my faith, though.”

“How convenient that you are suddenly interested in piety again now that you’re on trial.”

Yuri couldn’t even hate Cumore for that one, since it was the truth.  “Look, just… I should have taken my concerns about how God is protecting us from the plague to the father himself.  It was a mistake to talk about it with anyone else.”

“A ‘mistake’.”  Cumore gave him a condescending look, like Yuri was making this too easy for him and taking all the sport out of it.  “So you blaspheme the lord, skip mass, harbour an illegal animal who is likely a familiar, sprinkle unknown herbs in babies’ bassinets, break into houses to do who knows what, threaten children with supernatural death, seduce a god-fearing woman to sire a bastard, enchant a child, smuggle that child out of quarantine, use the devil’s power to defy the Lord’s plan by extending your life, have two distinct marks of the devil, and then lie to our faces about your involvement in sorcery?”

Yuri curled his fingers around the armrests.  The evidence stacked up against him was all based in just enough truth to give it substance, and then carefully arranged and dressed up with rumour to create a damning picture.  It would be so much easier to argue that he’d never done any of those things, but since he had, he was left with arguing about interpretations and intent.  How could he prove intent?  It was impossible.  They would believe whatever they wanted to believe.  It was just the sun shining through the windows radiating heat on his face, but he took it as foreshadowing.    

“I’m not a witch.  I never tried to hurt anyone.  I’m not the best at going to church and I was a little lax with the plague rules, but I’m not a witch.  Why would I use the plague to kill Hanks?  He was like a father to me.”

“And after he died, you inherited everything he owned and became more wealthy than you’ve ever been in your life.”

Fury flashed through him at the implication.  Keeping his voice from cracking with anger was a challenge as he said, “I didn’t kill Hanks.”

“Nobody I spoke with recalls seeing you grieve in any way.”

Yuri thought about the night Hanks had died and how he’d offered to clean Estelle’s rug at dusk.  Despite the odd time, she had agreed, and he’d spent over an hour in the dark street, beating the rug with so much force he almost broke it.  No one had seen him do it, as he’d planned.  No one had seen him shed a tear at all throughout the plague, because he hadn’t.  Maybe if he wasn’t so screwed up that he couldn’t even cry when his family died, people would believe he was in just as much mourning as the rest of the town.  

“I didn’t kill Hanks,” he repeated, quieter this time.  The idea that he might be convicted for murdering the man who raised him made him feel sick.  

“Anything else you can say in defence?”  

Yuri stared at his chained ankles.  What could he say?  What evidence could he possibly come up with to counteract the pile of circumstantial bullshit he was already wallowing in?  He tried to remember what Judith had told him and said, “Yeah….  Did you guys know, in 1601, a witch-finder in…  somewhere in Ardennes was sentenced to life in the galleys because he killed witches?”  He raised his head, certain this was his final chance at swaying them.  “The parlement isn’t sympathetic to witch hunts anymore.  That guy in Ardennes was doing the same thing you are here and he was punished for it.  How do you think it’s going to work out for you guys?”

There was a brief pause following his words, and Yuri almost thought this had worked.  Then Ragou said, “Are you threatening us?”

“No.  I’m just warning you that-”

“A warning is a threat.”  Ragou looked to the scribe.  “Be sure to record that the witch threatened the court with consequences should he be convicted.”

“That’s not what I said!”

“We have heard everything you had to say, and everything that was said against you.  The evidence of your misdeeds is overwhelming.  It is certain you are a witch, however, as no one has actually seen you perform witchcraft, this alone is insufficient to pass a sentence.  Do you confess?”

His heart skipped a beat.  “No!” 

“This will be easier for all of us if you freely confess now.”

“I don’t confess to anything.  I’m not a witch.”  

Behind him, the crowd had erupted into discussion.  He wished he could make out his friends’ voices through the din, because all the snippets he was hearing were about how glad they were that justice had been found.  

“Then you will remain in our custody until you are willing to provide such a confession.”

Yuri’s heart drummed against his chest as guards unlocked him from the chair, pulled him to his feet, and cuffed his hands.  He knew exactly what remaining in their custody would entail and they weren’t planning to let him sit in a cell twiddling his thumbs until he decided to confess.  His mind went to the image of the murderer from his childhood, and how broken he’d been by the time they brought him to the gallows.  

Yuri turned around to face the crowd and spotted Flynn’s burst of bright yellow hair near the back.  He had his hand on Karol’s shoulder as if to stop him from running forward, and beside him, Estelle clung to Rita’s hand.  Yuri met Flynn’s eyes and tried to project confidence.  The idea of what awaited him in the court’s custody filled him with dread, but he couldn’t let Flynn see weakness.  The last thing he wanted was for his friends to hurt over him any more than they had to.  

Flynn’s answering expression was solemn and didn’t carry a hint of surprise at how the trial had gone.  It did not, however, show resignation.  Yuri recalled what Judith had said about sending an appeal to Paris and knew Flynn would be mailing that letter as soon as he left the courthouse.  This was his last hope, but it was a good one.  No one had been convicted of witchcraft since 1625.  Once they reviewed his case, this nightmare would be over.   It would take a week or two for the post to reach Paris, at least a few days for the parlement to review his case, and another week or two for their verdict to come back.  He just had to endure whatever the court threw at him for a month at most, and then he would be exonerated.  He could handle that.  

* * *

After the trial, Flynn didn't bother going home. He had to talk to the magistrate immediately. Flynn let himself through a door to the back rooms of the courthouse, determined to make this right. Almost everything Yuri had been accused of was somehow his fault and he couldn't bear to see Yuri suffer because of him. Of course, he wasn't  _surprised_  at the outcome of this trial. He'd pegged Cumore right from the start as someone who worked backward by starting with a conclusion and then squeezing evidence to fit. The only thing Flynn wasn't sure of was whether Cumore did this out of sadism, an intense need to find witches for the public safety, or some other factor.

He got his answer soon after thinking about it. The door to Ragou's office was open and as Flynn approached, he heard Cumore's voice.

"The fee, as we agreed."

"Yes, yes, very well." Coins clinked. "Two louis." He slid the coins across the table.

Flynn paused in the hallway, lurking just outside the door. His fists clenched with fury the more he heard of their conversation.

"It's five louis. Two louis is the base fee for pricking a witch. Another two for gathering evidence and witnesses. And one more for going through the trial."

"Five louis? Do you want to bankrupt me?"

"It comes from the town treasury, not your own pockets." Cumore snickered a little and added, "But then, I assume your pockets are topped-up from the town treasury as well."

Ragou's disgruntled sniff was enough of a confirmation. "Alright, very well, five louis. Why didn't you arrest Scifo? I signed that warrant for you."

Flynn startled at this question and wondered if he should leave. Getting caught eavesdropping now would be more serious then just overhearing them quibble over prices.

"That was the plan, but then the tavern woman approached me with her accusations. Scifo seems well-regarded in town; it would be more difficult to find people willing to testify against him. But, as you saw, the case against Lowell wrote itself. It was a sure thing."

"Hmph. Sure thing, maybe, but what does he have? A handful of savings from scrubbing floors at a tavern? A rickety shack worth more as firewood than a residence? There's hardly any profit to be made from seizing his assets." Ragou snorted. "Even calling them 'assets' is hyperbole."

"And if I'd tried to convict Scifo and gotten nowhere, you would have gotten nothing. Lowell was a sure bet."

"Yes, yes, I understand. Lowell isn't settled yet, though. You need to extract a confession before the town takes possession of his 'estate', and you can get your fifteen percent cut of the proceeds."

Cumore cleared his throat. "Fifty percent."

"I'm not paying you fifty percent after I just gave you five louis to make up some balderdash over a love bite."

"You've already seen how stubborn he is. Getting the confession could take weeks. I'm not doing weeks of work wearing him down for just fifteen percent of a peasant's livelihood."

"You should have thought of that before deciding to prosecute a peasant."

"One percent per day of work it takes to get the confession, plus the standard wage of one livre per day of work."

Ragou deliberated this for a few seconds and then said, "Acceptable. I trust you to work efficiently, however, and not dawdle about with nothing but thumbscrews for over a week."

"Don't fret. I  _am_  a professional. And if all goes well, this may have whet the populace's appetite and we can go after Scifo and his mansion next."

"You're too cocky. I don't know how a stupid peasant knew about Rocroi, but the parlement of Paris has been cracking down on witch hunts. Caution is needed to not end up on trial ourselves. The more trials we have, the more suspicious Paris will become."

"That's why I don't alert Paris when I find a witch."

"Even if we try to keep it within the walls of Zaphias, the more trials we have, the more likely Paris is to find out. Unlike you, _I_  have a comfortable enough position and lifestyle to not be willing to risk getting sent to the galleys for a quick payout. Once Lowell burns, we can talk about getting Scifo next."

"Very well."

Flynn heard footsteps and hurried away himself, rounding the corner before Cumore left the room. He'd been planning to discuss having the appeal mailed to Paris with Ragou, but there was no use in bothering. Ragou had no interest in doing this by the book, and the only reason he went through the motions of a trial and getting a signed confession was that if the populace made a huge outcry, Alexei was likely to step in to restore peace. Flynn briefly considered going to Alexei with what he'd heard, but considering Alexei had invited Cumore here in the first in order to get Flynn convicted of witchcraft, meeting with him would only make matters worse.

He would handle this himself. Ragou and Cumore didn't want the Paris parlement to know about the trial? Well, too bad. He already had the documents half-prepared and could have it in the mail by tonight. He would get Yuri out of this if it was the last thing he did.


	19. Something Wicked

Yuri didn't sleep well that night and it wasn't just because the cell was cold and the floors hard. Something about knowing you were going to be tortured the next day made it hard to relax. When he finally fell asleep, fire and jeering faces filled his dreams. In the morning, they brought him breakfast, which was a nice touch. It was the same unappetizing broth he'd had the last few days, but at least they weren't starving him.

Cumore, the scribe, and a pair of guards arrived closer to noon. Yuri supposed Cumore didn't want to wake up early. When they approached the cell, Yuri stood. He wasn't going to look up at Cumore if he could help it.

"Morning, Lowell. Did you sleep well?"

Yuri folded his arms and leaned against the cold, stone wall. "Fantastic, thanks for asking."

"I have here," he pulled out a roll of paper and presented it to Yuri, "a statement confessing to your crimes. All it requires to be valid is your signature, or at least an X if you can't write."

From across the cell, Yuri couldn't make out individual words. He knew it would have some drivel about using magic to kill Mari and Hanks, though, so it was probably better if he didn't actually read it. "I  _can_  read and write, in fact, but I'm still not signing that crap."

"Naturally." Cumore pulled the paper away and glanced over it himself. "If you refuse to confess, we have no choice but to use pain to force out the devil and reveal the truth. If your soul is innocent, God will protect it even if your body breaks. Do you still deny the allegations?"

Yuri wished the local guards weren't there so Cumore could cut the crap and speak honestly. He was going to be tortured to try to make him cave; they didn't give a rat's ass if he was innocent or not. "Threaten me all you want. I'm not signing that."

"Alright, we'll do this the hard way."

He waved his hand and the guards unlocked the door. Yuri briefly considered fighting back, but the chances of making it out of Zaphias without being caught were minimal and all he'd manage would be to make Cumore laugh at his desperation. Yuri wasn't going to be a screaming, begging victim, so he didn't protest as they tied his wrists behind his back, clutched his arms, and led him out of the cell. Cumore took the lead to a door at the end of the hallway. Beyond it was a small room with vaulted ceilings, no windows, and a number of contraptions Yuri had only heard described. Despite his resolve, he stopped walking when his eyes landed on all those rows of spikes, and the guards had to pull to drag him onward. At least they didn't take him to the rack sitting in the corner, or the chair studded in spikes that shone in the torchlight. They stopped below a pulley bolted to the ceiling. One end of the rope hanging down ended in a hook, while the other end led to a large axle with a wheel like that on a ship to turn. When Cumore turned the wheel, the hook grabbed the rope around his wrists and pulled his arms up, just until it met resistance and become moderately painful.

As they set Yuri up, the scribe dragged a small table over and settled into a chair. He took out a quill, ink bottle, and sheet of paper and looked like he was ready to record the minutes of a conference. Wonderful, Yuri thought. He was going to be tortured, but at least it was all very official. Hopefully the scribe had a good sense of onomatopoeia, so that he could accurately record screams of agony. Yuri glared at the delicate quill in his soft hand; he hoped the scribe choked on it.

Cumore's hand casually rested on one of the wheel's wooden handles. "This is your last chance."

"Go fuck yourself."

Cumore gave the wheel a sharp twist, winding more rope around the axle and wrenching Yuri off his feet and swinging into the air. He couldn't help a grunt from the shock of pain as his arms threatened to pop out of his shoulders. Cumore kept a steady grip on the wheel to hold Yuri dangling a few feet off the ground, all his weight pulling down on the arms twisted behind his back.

"Let me explain your options while you're just hanging there."

Yuri stopped wincing long enough to raise his head and shoot daggers at Cumore with his eyes.

"There are three possible futures in store for you and it's up to you which one you get. The first, and frankly the easiest, is that you confess to witchcraft right now and give that confession form a nice, legible signature while you still have full function in your hands. You ask the priest for forgiveness, beg mercy from the Lord, and are rewarded with being cleanly strangled before your body is burned to thank you for making it easy for us. Option two is that you continue professing your innocence for weeks or months, getting tortured every day, until eventually you die of your injuries or pick up some disease from the jail. Option three is that you decide today that you're innocent and will never confess, endure weeks of agony until your resolve crumbles, and scrawl an attempt at a signature on the confession form in a desperate move to make the pain stop. Then you get chained to a stake and set on fire while still very much alive, and you writhe and scream until you very much are not. This option has all the pain of option two, an even more painful end than option one, and yet, it's the one most people choose. Strange, don't you think?"

Yuri did his best to meet Cumore's eyes during his little speech, though it was difficult with his arms pulled backward forcing his head forward. Focusing on anything other than the stabbing pain his shoulders, elbows, and wrists took concerted effort, but he got the gist.

The scribe raised his quill. "Ah, don't forget the fourth option. We may find sufficient evidence proving him innocent and release him."

With his back to the scribe, Cumore smiled t Yuri. "Yes, of course. How thoughtless of me to forget that option." Yuri had a better chance of sprouting wings and flying out of jail than of them being swayed to find him innocent.

Cumore released the wheel, letting Yuri fall gratefully back to his feet. He gingerly lowered his aching arms.

"So, what future will you choose?"

Yuri took a moment to catch his breath and then said, "I'm not signing your goddamned paper."

"How did I know you were going to pick option three?" Cumore yanked again and the pain returned in full force.

Yuri gritted his teeth and only let out a pained hiss. They'd only been at it for a few minutes and he was already tired of it. He swung in place, bare feet reaching for the floor to take any ounce of pressure off his arms, and reminded himself he only had to endure this for a month. Somehow, this was not comforting.

"You," Cumore pointed to one of the guards, "go get the weights."

Yuri was left hanging for several minutes, the agony in his arms crystallizing into new and not-previously-discovered forms of loathing. He briefly pictured Mrs. Lagadeg strung up next to him and took some sick satisfaction in the mental image of her experiencing just as much pain. This was stupid, of course, because that wouldn't get him down from here, but sometimes the easiest way to deal with pain was to spread it around.

Cumore's assistant returned with a set of lead weights with loops on top that would normally be used for measuring quantities of trade goods. Cumore finally allowed Yuri's feet back to the ground, only to take some rope and tie one weight to each ankle. The coarse rope bit into his skin, but that was nothing compared to the jerk of being pulled up again, this time with the weights pulling him down with almost as much force. Yuri quickly smothered a shout that accompanied a loud pop as his arms left their sockets. The weights dragged him down, digging into his ankles and stretching him taut.

"Did you not make a deal with the devil to obtain inhuman powers?"

"No!"

He was lowered, give a second of respite, and wrenched off his feet again. If his arms ripped off and he bled out, would that be more or less painful than burning alive? He hated how serious of a deliberation he gave this.

"Are you a witch?!"

Yuri instinctively tried to kick Cumore, which only succeeded in making the weights swing and increase the pain. "I'm not!"

Again and again the rope pulled him into the air, until Yuri feared his arms were so twisted they would never return to their proper function. Every time he hit the ground, the flood of relief rushed through him, which only made it more painful when fresh agony returned seconds later. On what might have been the twentieth time he was hoisted up, Yuri shouted, "Ok! Ok, I confess!" He panted, eyes watered, every join awash with fire.

Cumore's eyebrows rose and he lowered Yuri to the ground. "You do?"

Yuri took the chance to take a few deep breaths while Cumore awaited his answer. "I… confess. W-when I was ten, I stole a bun from the bakery."

Yuri groaned as Cumore yanked on the rope again. After a few more ups and downs, he found himself hoping to see Mrs. Lagadeg join him down here not just for the comfort of seeing others in pain, too, but because he straight-up wanted her to suffer. It was an alarming realization because he'd known her all his life and had never felt this much hatred toward a person. None of the pain he had to contend with would be happening if it hadn't been for her accusation getting the ball rolling. His body couldn't handle this much agony so it converted some of it into hatred.

"Confess your sins and the pain will stop."

Yuri opened his mouth and a moan escaped, but he took another breath and gasped, "Th… this is nothing. Get more weights."

Cumore gave Yuri another of his despicable smiles. "If you insist."

* * *

 

Flynn was ready to mail the appeal the day after the trial.  He’d spent the entire evening writing out, to the best of his ability, what had been said throughout the proceedings because apparently Ragou wasn’t interested in sending the actual records.  Maybe this was for the best.  His recollection of events cut out the baseless speculations Cumore had thrown around and only included the actual witness testimonies.  He had debated including those damning details, too, but didn’t want to push his luck.  There  was a chance the parlement would want to investigate closer, and if they found out that the appeal had purposefully hidden key evidence, it could lead them to suspect there was a reason that information had to be hidden.  Flynn relied on knowing that the Paris parlement had high standards for what constituted a witch and trusted that they would see through Cumore’s bullshit.

The biggest challenge had been keeping the report impersonal when all he wanted to do was rage at someone over the injustice of it all.  He was an immortal overseer of death, but he felt so powerless to protect the person he loved.  Ragou and Cumore were planning to kill Yuri in such an awful way just to make a quick buck and all he could do about it was write a letter and hope someone else sorted it out.  Passing the courthouse on the way to the post office just made him feel worse, as he couldn’t help imagining what was surely happening to Yuri at that very moment.  

At the post office, he handed his package over to the postmaster.  It consisted of several pages describing the course of the trial plus a letter explaining Ragou’s decision to not report the case, thus why it was coming from a third party.  All these documents had been folded up and sealed with wax, and as he handed them over he said, “Please be careful.  This is a very important delivery.”

“All mail we take care of is important, Mr. Scifo.”  The postmaster took the package in his wizened hands and glanced at the address.  “Ohhh, going to Paris?  How fancy.”

“Yes.” Flynn pushed money across the wooden counter.  “It must reach the high appellate court in Paris as soon as possible.  If you could use your fastest horses, I would appreciate it.  If I can pay any extra to go faster, give me a price.”

“All our horses are quite speedy, Mr. Scifo.”  The postmaster carefully pulled out a quill out of his desk and tapped it on the lip of the inkwell.  “We’ll get your letter to Paris, don’t you worry.”  He wrote the date in the top corner of the letter and then reached into his drawer again, shuffled around, pulled out some papers to check prices, and dragged the quill slowly over the paper.

Flynn stopped himself from leaning over the counter, grabbing the quill, and writing himself.  A difference of a few minutes in processing time wouldn’t have an impact on how long it took this letter to reach Paris, but every second felt important while Yuri was in danger.

“What are you writing to Paris for?” the postmaster asked.

Flynn stared at the quill in the man’s hand and willed it to start moving again.  “I’m sending a report on the trial that took place yesterday, as per their requirements.”

“Oh, yeah, the witch trial?  You’re friends with Lowell, aren’t you?”

“That’s right.”

“Did you know he was a witch?”

Flynn’s heart throbbed with anger.  “He isn’t a witch.”

“No?  That’s what the magistrate said, though.  There was a trial and everything.”

“Yes, I was there. Were you?”

“Nope.”  He finally finished recording the address, return address, and proof of payment.  “Didn’t have time.  Taking care of the post is an important job, you know?” He tapped the side of his nose with a smile.  “But everyone heard what happened.  They say it was quite conclusive.”

“I was at the trial, and I didn’t find it conclusive at all.”

“Oh, hm. Well, it was conclusive enough for the magistrate, and that foreign witch finder was there, too.  He’s a professional, so he’s got to know how to recognize witches.”

The idea that this was the perspective of the average resident infuriated Flynn.  They would all be perfectly fine with watching Yuri burn alive so long as enough people in authority assured them it was ok.  Everyone who knew Yuri was too busy lashing out at the first available target for their grief, and everyone who didn’t just trusted the court at its word.  No wonder the Paris parlement demanded witch trials go through them; local justice systems were a joke.  

“I know Yuri well, and I’m certain that he isn’t a witch.  Please make sure this letter arrives safely in Paris.”

“Oh, sure, don’t you worry.  Everything will go smoothly unless a witch casts a spell on the mail!”  He laughed at his attempt at humour, while Flynn turned and left without a goodbye.  

* * *

 

Yuri wasn’t sure how many days had passed, but it seemed like a lot. He wished he had some way to record time so he would know if it was close to being a month yet, but he didn’t have anything sharp enough to scratch tallies in the cell walls.  The only frame of reference he had was how much of his hair had grown back, and so far the hair on his head was still less than an inch long.

The days all blurred together into a hazy recollection of pain.  Cumore had helped him discover new muscles and new ways to hurt.  Every day started with soup that was barely more than water and some stale bread if he was lucky, before segueing into marching him back to the torture chamber to resume questioning.  How many times did he have to deny being a witch before they believed him?  He’d whispered it through gritted teeth, spat it at Cumore’s face, and screamed it louder than he would have liked several times over.  He wasn’t a witch but he was caught in a nightmare where every action he took seemed to prove otherwise.

He had put concerted effort into not showing fear the first few days.  His pride demanded he keep his head high and not let Cumore know how much misery he was in.  Cumore had told the scribe to make note of his lack of fear, because only an inhuman witch would show such a lack of concern before torture.  After many days of this, Yuri decided his pride wasn’t worth it and let himself lash out at the guards securing the iron restraints on the chair (which was thankfully not the one with spikes).  He’d struggled against the cuffs on his wrists and ankles as Cumore brought out the thumbscrews, until Cumore declared that the innocent had nothing to fear and his reaction was proof of a guilty conscience.  After that, Yuri hadn’t bothered to put any thought into what his reaction would say about himself and just hurled profanity while Cumore tightened the thumbscrews until bones cracked and his fingernails buckled.  He didn’t remember all the words he’d used, but the scribe’s quill had steadily scratched away in the background to record how often he’d no doubt taken the Lord’s name in vain.  

The next day, while he sat in the chair once again and Cumore used pliers to finish off the fingernails that hadn’t been dislodged the day before, he’d stared fixedly at a spot on the wall in an attempt to focus on anything other than his fingers.  Cumore had explained to the scribe that this was proof he was staring at the devil and asking for aid, and that therefore they must intensify the torture to drive the devil out.  Meanwhile, closing his eyes while being splashed with boiling water meant he was in prayer with the devil.  Yuri supposed he shouldn’t be surprised, considering they seemed to take every denial of witchcraft as further confirmation.  

On a day that was surely several weeks into his ordeal, Yuri hung by the wrists against a stone column.  He supposed it was a blessing that his arms were in front of him this time, so he only had to deal with the typical pain of suspension and not the dislocating effect of strappado.  Of course, his arms had been previously dislocated and then clumsily fixed by himself in his cell hours later enough times that it didn’t make much of a difference in the pain level.  

“Do you confess to your crimes?” Cumore asked, sounding bored.

Yuri pressed his forehead against the cool stone and took a deep breath.  As soon as he said no, Cumore would whip him again.  Blood already trickled down his back from all the previous times he’d said no.  Yuri wished Cumore would just flog him and get it over with, because pausing after every lash to ask for a confession made it harder to zone out and lose himself in the pain.  Every time he asked, Yuri had to deal with a little piece of his mind begging him to just confess already and get this over with.  

“’M not a witch,” Yuri mumbled and heard the swish of the whip before he even finished his sentence.  

At the moment the whip tore across his bare back, Judith stepped into his line of sight and said, “Try not to make a sign that you see me.”

Luckily, she’d timed her appearance perfectly so that any reaction he may have had was absorbed into the jerk and grunt of the lash.  With Cumore behind him, there was nobody to notice how the way he shifted his head so now his cheek pressed against the stone let him fix his gaze on a spot just ahead and to the right of the pillar.  

“I know you can’t talk back to me or else they’ll start beating you for speaking to the devil next.”

Yuri rolled his eyes slightly to indicate that he didn’t think there was much they could do that they hadn’t tried already.

“Do you confess?”

Yuri panted and put off replying.  He really wanted to say yes just to buy a few hours of being left alone.  

“I wanted to see how you were doing.  Well, Flynn asked me to.”

Yuri just gave her a look and trusted his battered condition said enough.  

“Yes, that’s what I thought.  But Flynn said to reassure you that your case was sent to the parlement and he’s sure they’re reviewing it by now.  You must not give in yet.”

Cumore gave the whip a lighter crack, letting it sting across the bottoms of his feet. “Well?”  It was meant to be an encouragement to answer rather than a punishment, but the shock of pain across his feet made him jerk his knee into the pillar and set off yet more pain.  

“Still not a witch.”  Yuri closed his eyes and braced himself as the next lash cracked across his shoulder blades.  Even if the parlement were currently reviewing his case, it would still be a few weeks before their response returned to Zaphias.  How much more of this could he take?  He wished he  _was_  a witch so that he had the power to curse Cumore, Ragou, and every rotten bastard who’d testified against him.  

“Do you confess?”

Something touched his arm and Yuri automatically flinched away from it before realizing it was just Judith’s ghostly touch.  Her fingers tingled without weight, but it was still the first time since he’d been arrested that someone had touched him without trying to hurt him.  

“I’m not a witch.”

The next stroke cut cross older ones and Yuri couldn’t hold in a shout. 

“I can stay with you, if you want.”  Her cold touch turned warm and tendrils of fuzzy energy flowed through his arm and into his body.  Everywhere they went, pain ebbed away.  “I can only do so much for non-lethal injuries, but I can provide some comfort.”

“Do you confess?”

Yuri couldn’t risk nodding to Judith lest it be taken as an admission of witchcraft, so he mouthed,  _please_. Aloud, he said, “Heh… I confess… that I fucked your mother.”

He wasn’t surprised at the force in the next stroke.  The blood running down his back tickled and made him squirm, which just made the injuries hurt more.  Then he felt Judith’s hand on his side, with warmth and comfort flowing out of it.  The pain was still there, but she gave him the strength to fight it.  As long as she stayed, he thought he could make it through the rest of the afternoon.

* * *

 

Flynn had trouble relaxing.  Every time he got comfortable in his house, he thought about how uncomfortable Yuri was at that very moment and felt too guilty.  How could he just sit around reading a book and sipping cider while Yuri was tortured?  Now that Zaphias was released from quarantine, he knew he ought to start visiting other towns again.  He had never gone so long without making the rounds to nearby villages to consult with the local Ankou.  He just didn’t feel like he could leave Zaphias in case something happened and Yuri needed him.  He didn’t know what that might be, but he knew he would feel awful if he left town while Yuri was still below the courthouse.  Any action that didn’t directly benefit Yuri felt like a waste of time, but there were no actions he could take.  All he ended up doing was roam around town with no direction in mind.    

On a cool, windy day a week into October, Flynn was on one such walk.  Everywhere he want, he saw locations where he’d spent time with Yuri and just felt worse.  When Yuri had the plague, he’d been overcome with grief at the tragedy of the situation.  Yuri caught plague out of bad luck, just like everyone else who’d died last summer.  Now, Yuri’s misfortune was entirely man-made.  If the people of Zaphias hadn’t heaped all their grief on him, he would be safely at Flynn’s side right now.  So while the thought of Yuri suffering saddened him, this time it was matched by anger.  The grey sky overhead fit his mood as he drifted past the north gate.  

After passing it, he paused and backed up.  Sure enough, there was Estelle on the pier, legs dangled over the edge.  Since he really didn’t have anywhere else to go, Flynn passed through the gate.  The old wooden pier creaked under his footsteps.  

“Good afternoon.”

Estelle jumped and twisted around.  “Oh!  Hello, Flynn.”

“Do you mind if I sit with you?”

Estelle shrugged a little and scooted over.  Flynn took a seat between her and one of the posts.  His legs dangled over the side, toes just inches from the green water.  

“You seem upset.”

Estelle leaned forward on her knees.  “I visited Yuri today.”

Flynn turned his head sharply to her.  “You did?”  They let Yuri have visitors? 

She saw his expression and smiled sadly.  “They let me in as a nurse, not a friend.  They were… worried.  Because he - he was bleeding too much.”

Flynn hung his head.  He should have known.  Not wanting the answer but needing to know, he asked, “Where was he hurt?”

“His face,” she said softly.  “They didn’t tell me exactly what they’d done, but I think they hit him with something or cracked his head against the floor.  There was a big cut on his forehead through his eyebrow.”  She paused for a moment to contemplate the churning grey waves stretched out before them.  “Face injuries always bleed a lot so… I think they thought it was more serious than it was.”

“Is he ok now?”

“Yes.”  She clenched and unclenched her skirt.  “I mean, no.  I mean, I patched the wound, but he’s really not ok and I don’t think he has been for a while.”

Judith had told him as much.  It had been just shy of a month since the trial and Flynn was counting on a response from Paris any day now.  If they accidentally killed Yuri a day before the letter came back, he didn’t think he could bear it.  Worse was the knowledge that by this point, even if Yuri was cleared of all charges and free to go, he’d already spent a month enduring the worst abuses Cumore could come up with.  In the army, he’d seen men come out of particularly vicious battles so shaken that they were never fit to return to the front.  Some traumas could not be recovered from.  Estelle could mend bloody wounds, but what condition would Yuri be in, mentally and emotionally, when he finally got out of there?  

“Was he at least… you know, Yuri?”

He didn’t like how long it took her to reply.  

“I think… yes.  At least, he seemed like the Yuri during the times when I talked to him too early in the morning and his personality hasn’t had a chance to wake up yet.  He’s really, really tired.”  She looked at Flynn with a glimmer of forced smile.  “But when he realized it was me patching him up, he smiled a little and said it was good to see me.”

“I’m glad to hear that, at least.”

“You and Yuri….”  Her legs swung and she glanced to him and then away again.  “You two are, um…  _together_ , aren’t you?”

Flynn’s breath caught in his throat.  “Why-” that came out too high pitched, “Why do you say that?”

“It’s ok.  I won’t tell anyone else.  It’s just, the way you look when you’re thinking about him.  And the way he muttered your name as soon as I started gently washing his face.”

Flynn’s cheeks flushed, and then he realized that blushing was enough of a confirmation and that just made him blush harder.  “You’re… correct.”

“I thought so.”  She folded her hands and swung her legs.  “I met Yuri for the first time when I was five.  He put a frog on my shoulder because he thought it would make me freak out, but, I just thought it was cute.  So we decided to keep it as a pet and raise it together.”  Her eyebrows knit in a tiny frown.  “Only we didn’t know how to take care of a frog and one day it escaped the jar and got run over by a cart.  So… that didn’t work out well.  I still feel bad about that frog.  Yuri and I kept hanging out together, though.  I’ve known him for most of his life and I’ve never seen him so enthralled by a person until you came to town.”

“Enthralled?”

She nodded.  “I started noticing it last spring.”

Flynn’s Adam’s apple bobbed.  He’d had no idea Yuri had felt that way for so long.  

“I’m really happy that you two found each other.”

“I am, too.”  It was a relief to finally talk about this with someone other than Judith.  So often, he wanted to shout how much he loved Yuri from the rooftops, but he had been confined to telling only one other person.  “I only wish we had found each other in happier times.”

Estelle sighed and stared at the ocean for a bit longer.  “Do you really think the letter you’re expecting will make everything ok?”

“Yes.”

“What if it doesn’t?  Do you have a back-up plan?”

Flynn picked at the frayed rope wound around the post.  “Not… exactly.”  It would make everything better, though.  It had to.  In three years, they hadn’t convicted anyone.  They just had to wait for it to get here.  

“Yuri thinks the world of you, you know.  He was convinced you had the ability to help stop the plague.  He was actually kind of mad at you for not doing it.”

Flynn shifted awkwardly.  “…Oh, huh?”

“Yes.  And the way he mentioned you today, too - he believes you’ll get him out of this.  I think it’s good that you have each other.  You’re like… an anchor right now.  His faith that you’ll make everything right is what’s holding him together.”

“I  _will_  make everything right.”  He wished Estelle hadn’t told him that.  It was heartwarming to know the depth of Yuri’s feelings, but her earlier question worried him.  He did not have a back-up plan.  Did Yuri trust him to have one?  Did Yuri trust he could use some Ankou powers or some trick picked up from the journal to get him exonerated even if the parlement failed?  Well, he wasn’t going to fail that hope.  He had failed to save Yuri’s life once, and he wouldn’t do it again.  No matter what it took or how many sleeves he had to pull tricks out of, he wouldn’t let Yuri die from this.  


	20. Best Laid Plans

Flynn was in the sitting room with Repede on a Saturday a few days after his chat with Estelle. Repede sat at his feet, napping. Flynn envied Repede's ability to relax while he had spent the last month worrying at all times of the day. Repede didn't even know he was a fugitive, hiding in Flynn's house to protect him from those who thought he was a demonic familiar. Flynn was counting on most people not being able to tell Repede apart from any other scruffy dog. With a bath, groomed fur, a collar, and a home inside a mansion, he passed as a wealthy man's house pet. Though Flynn occasionally caught Repede looking glum with his head on his paws, in general he seemed quite happy with his comfortable life and trusted Yuri would be back with him soon. Flynn envied that amount of trust, too.

Someone knocked at the front door. Flynn turned a page of his book and let Leblanc get it. A minute later, there was a soft knock on the sitting room door and Leblanc stepped in.

"Sir, there are city guards at the door demanding you go with them."

Flynn lowered the book. "Am I under arrest?"

"They didn't say but they don't have a warrant. Should I try to get them to leave?"

Flynn set the book aside. "No, I'll see what this is about. Stay there, Repede."

Repede settled back on his haunches as Flynn followed Leblanc back to the front door. Two guards stood on the front step, straightening up when they saw him approach. Flynn stopped before them and said, "Well?"

"You're to come with us," one of them said.

"To where?"

The other said, "Courthouse. Magistrate Ragou wants to talk to you."

Flynn frowned. "Is this, 'Ragou wants to talk to me about a personal subject', or 'the magistrate demands I attend a formal interrogation'?"

The guards glanced at each other. "Uh… he didn't say. A letter arrived, he read it, and then he marched out shouting at us to 'go get Flynn Scifo'."

A letter? Flynn's heart skipped a beat. If he was being accused of anything, Cumore would be here. If Ragou wanted to talk to him about a letter, and it was something that made him angry, there could only be one explanation. "Very well. I'd like to speak with him, too. Let me get my coat."

The guards were clearly relieved that they weren't going to have to drag him in by force, and once Flynn left the house, he walked with such determination that they struggled to match his pace. The parlement's response to Yuri's appeal had arrived and within the hour, he would have Yuri in his arms again. The mental image of holding him tight and never letting anything bad happen to him again consumed his mind on the walk to the courthouse. Once there, he strode directly to Ragou's office and didn't knock before walking into the open door.

"You wanted to see me, sir?"

Ragou whirled around from the bookshelf he'd been examining. "Ah!  _You_." Ragou returned to his desk and picked up a stack of folded papers with a recently broken wax seal. He shook this at Flynn. "Do you know what this is?"

It was hard to make out due to the shaking, but since he knew what to expect, he made out the address of the parlement in the upper corner. "It looks like legal documents from the high court."

Ragou slammed them into the desk with enough force to rattle his inkwells. "That is exactly what they are. I was shocked to receive them, considering I hadn't mailed any appeals lately."

Flynn kept his face blank. "Is that so? But an order from the Paris parlement in 1625 demands all witch trials be appealed before it. Did you not send Yuri's case information to Paris?"

Ragou glared at him while still leaning forward on his desk. "You know perfectly well I didn't, because you sent the documents yourself. Do you know what I received along with their decision?"

Flynn's eyes drifted to the papers under Ragou's hand and longed to grab them and read that decision. "I can't imagine, sir."

"It was a letter. Apparently, they had received a letter along with the case information stating that the magistrate of Zaphias had chosen to defy the law and carry out a witch trial without oversight, and that was why the appeal was being sent by a one Flynn Scifo."

Flynn remained taciturn. "Did my letter include any falsehoods?"

Ragou glared until it morphed into a smirk. "Yes, it did. You said in your letter that I purposefully neglected my duty. What actually happened is that I was quite busy with all the paperwork the trial generated and planned to mail the appeal the following day. Then I discovered someone had already done that."

"Ah. I see. I apologize for circumventing your authority. I was anxious to ensure due process was done."

"Yes, of course. However, the parlement has still seen it fit to fine me for the mix-up you caused. You owe me twenty-five louis."

Flynn's breath caught his his throat. "Twenty-five? Twenty-five  _louis_?" Surely he meant five louis, or twenty-five livres. Twenty-five louis could buy a pair of high-quality horses!

"I believe I spoke clearly. Hand it over."

Flynn stood frozen for a moment. Not only should Ragou's personal fine not be his problem, but also, "I hardly carry that kind of money around on my person."

"I will give you twenty-four hours to come up with the money or I'll have you jailed for the debt."

Flynn nodded slowly. "Ah… yes. I can get it." He did have that much in his savings and then some, but it was more money than he usually spent in a year, let alone throwing it away all at once. But, Flynn didn't dare do anything to anger Ragou as long as the situation with Yuri was delicate. It was a sacrifice he would have to make.

"Very well, then, you are dismissed."

"And what about Yuri?"

"What about him?"

Flynn struggled to keep the emotion out of his voice. "Is he being released?"

Ragou laughed. "Of course not."

"But the appeal-"

Ragou's smile stretched. "You really thought you could sneak under my nose and have the big Paris court undermine my authority. Well, guess what? They agree with me."

"What?"

"After all this trouble you've caused, the parlement reviewed the case and agreed that there's significant evidence to prove Lowell is a witch."

"That can't be right."

Ragou shoved the papers at him. "Read for yourself."

Flynn leafed through pages of legalese with trembling hands. He was too panicked to focus on the filler words and just leapt from key phrase to key phrase. When he reached the end, those phrases and formed an undeniable conclusion: the court had condemned Yuri to death. All they needed was a confession from the accused to finalize the conviction and then Ragou had the go-ahead to execute the witch. For the first time in three years, they'd found a case with enough evidence.

"This is… this…."

"Twenty-five louis and what are you even getting out of it?"

Flynn dropped the papers back to the desk. The light at the end of the tunnel was a bonfire. What the hell was he supposed to do now?

Flynn left the courthouse in a daze. It took the entire walk to Estelle's house for the situation to even feel real. After knocking, he struggled to figure out what he was going to say when she answered the door.

The door swung open and Estelle greeted him with a smile. "Hi, Flynn… what's wrong?"

Behind her, Karol looked up from the table with worry.

"The response to Yuri's appeal came back." After speaking with such confidence the other day, Flynn couldn't meet her eyes. "They agree with Ragou."

"But you said… what?"

Flynn stepped into her house to sit at the table with her and Karol. "I just came back from speaking with Ragou. He showed me the letter. They threw out some of the wilder accusations and more circumstantial evidence, but ultimately decided that Yuri's spontaneous recovery from pneumonic plague was evidence of sorcery in conjunction with him spreading unknown herbs around and harbouring an unusually intelligent dog throughout the plague."

"But…." Karol seemed at a loss. "What's going to happen to Yuri now?"

Flynn closed his eyes and took a deep breath. "I'm still trying to figure that out."

"If the high court didn't overturn Ragou's decision, that means they can execute him as soon as he confesses." Estelle's words tumbled over each other due to her nerves. "And there's no law against how long they can keep him in jail. The only way for him to not be killed is if Ragaou and Cumore finally decide to believe him about not being a witch!"

"Fat chance of that happening." Karol folded his arms with a glower. "It's already been more than a month. If Yuri hasn't convinced them by now, he never will."

"They can't be convinced," Flynn said dully. "I don't think either of them really believe in witchcraft. They get paid for catching a witch. They won't back down until they burn someone and Yuri's drawn the short straw."

Karol ran his hands through his hair and groaned. "Oh man, what are we gonna do? We can't let them kill him!"

"Legally, our hands our tied." Flynn spoke slowly as his thoughts came together. "There is nothing else we can do within the judicial system but sit and wait for Yuri to crack and burn or die from the torture. Which means the only way to save Yuri is by breaking the law ourselves."

Estelle stared at him. "What do you mean? What law can you break to save him?"

"I'm going to break him out of jail." Flynn was almost as surprised as the others when he said it. He was making the plan up as he went along now. "It's the only way. Tonight, I'll sneak into the jail and get him out. We'll have to flee town and we're unlikely to come back. I'll take him to… Brest. We talked about that before… I think he'd like it there."

"We'll never see him again," Karol said.

Flynn was about to comment that compared to the fate awaiting Yuri here, this was the best option they could hope for. But he saw the loss on Karol's face and remembered that the reason he was with Estelle now was that he'd recently lost both parents and was poised to lose Yuri, too. "You and Estelle, and Rita, too, can visit, or even move there with us. Not tonight, though. I need to focus on just getting Yuri and I out without extra people."

Estelle nodded. "Yes, that makes sense. I don't know if I want to leave Zaphias… but I will at least go for a little bit to see him."

"How are you going to get him out?" Karol asked.

"Don't worry about it. I'll figure something out."

* * *

 

Close to midnight, Flynn crept toward the courthouse.  With his hat and cloak on, he didn’t have to worry about being spotted.  At home, his coach was already packed with all his personal belongings and was ready to leave as soon as he got back with Yuri.  It was a shame Yuri couldn’t lie on the bench inside and get comfortable, but keeping him from needing to be picked up by the coach was the whole purpose of this.  

At the entrance to the courthouse, he pressed his hand over the lock and thanked God it was made of brass instead of iron.  The door clicked and swung open.  Flynn entered and glanced around to make sure no one was around to see the door open and then continued onward. At the back of the main room, he slipped through another door into a hallway, and then instead of continuing on to Ragou’s office, turned through a heavy wooden door with stone steps spirally down to the basement.  It was a good thing Flynn’s eyes had adjusted to the moonless night, because stepping down into the darkness was like wading into a black sea.  He shivered from the damp chill as he neared the bottom and his heart ached to think of Yuri locked up down here for over a month.  

At the base of the stairs, he finally got a flicker of light.  The guard on duty had lit a candle as he sat in the tiny annex to the jail, playing a card game by himself.  There was enough light to shine on a barred window at the top of the wall, but not enough come in through it to make any difference.  Flynn stopped in the empty doorway and watched the guard.  He hadn’t been sure if someone would be on duty at all times, and had hoped there wouldn’t be, but he supposed he shouldn’t have gotten his hopes up.  Behind the guard was a thick wooden door with an iron-barred window which Flynn supposed led to Yuri, and a less-reinforced door leading to who knew where.  Even if he could more silently and invisibly, though, he couldn’t walk through a door without being noticed.  

Back up the stairs, Flynn looked for something heavy to create a distraction.  A leather-bound bible on the high table caught his eye and he hurried over.  Flynn hefted it and tossed it across the room with as much force as he could.  It landed with a resounding  _thump_  that would surely have gotten the guard’s attention.  Sure enough, he heard footsteps slapping up the stairs a moment later.  The guard stood in the dark court room, confused about what made the sound, while Flynn snuck up behind him with his trusty crowbar.  He felt guilty about attacking the man who was only doing his job, but then he remembered that the man’s job included helping Cumore torture Yuri and his guilt vanished.  Flynn brought it down over the guard’s head and the man slumped to the ground.  Being invisible had its advantages.  

He crouched and felt around the man’s belt for the keyring.  Judith had told him Yuri’s cell had iron bars, so he wouldn’t be able to use his abilities to get him out.  As his hand landed on the metal loop, he heard a yell and jerked around to see another guard standing at the top of the stairs in alarm.  Flynn had a sudden vision of that other door and with a stab of panic realized he had been a damn fool to think only one other person was in the building.

The guard surveyed the scene and took in his colleague lying face-down on the floor without any form of injury invisible in the dim light, the holy bible moved from its table and lying in a heap of bent pages in the middle of the aisle, and the total absence of any other person on the room.  “S-Sorcery!”  He ran for the door.  

Flynn he been prepared for a fight, so the sudden flight caught him off guard.  By the time he got to his feet, the guard was almost out the door.  Flynn pursued, but couldn’t reach him before he dashed outside and started screaming into the night.

“Help!  Sorcery!  Witchcraft!  I need backup at the courthouse!”

Flynn swore briefly debated his options.  He couldn’t fight off the entire platoon that was about to swarm the courthouse, and he couldn’t silence this guard before they were alerted because that horse had already left its barn.  His only chance was to move fast and try to get Yuri out before the guards came back.  

He ran back to the fallen guard and was already reaching for the keyring as he dropped to his knees.  Flynn grabbed it from the belt and then kept running to the stairs.  He nearly tripped and broke his neck from running down the dark spiral so fast and then crashed into the heavy door because he didn’t slow down soon enough.  He jammed keys into the lock until one finally clicked open and then shouted, “Yuri!” as he rushed into the hall.  “Yuri, where are you?!  It’s me!”  Something rustled in a cell to his left.  Flynn pivoted and ran to the wall of bars.  The only light was what could make it from the candle, but maybe it was for the best that Flynn couldn’t see Yuri very well.  

“Flynn…?”  Yuri croaked.  His brush with death let him see Flynn even while wearing the hat and cloak, which was good because it saved Flynn the time of taking them off.  

“I’m here to rescue you.”  He thrust a key into the hole on Yuri’s door.  

“But… the appeal?”

Flynn grimaced.  “I’m sorry, Yuri.  They didn’t overturn the conviction.  Your sentence is entirely up to Ragou now.”

Yuri was silent for far too long.  The promise of freedom coming from Paris had been his foundation throughout the entire ordeal, and Flynn could only imagine how it felt to have that fall through.  

“That’s why I’m breaking you out.  You’re coming with me to Brest.  We’re never going to see Cumore or Ragou’s damn faces ever again, alright?”  He found the key and clicked the lock.  The heavy iron door swung open and Flynn discarded the keys to the ground.  “But we have to move fast.”

Yuri started trying to get up, and Flynn stepped in to help him.  He had to lift Yuri’s whole weight, but that wasn’t very much.  Yuri wrapped an arm around Flynn’s shoulders and limped after him.  Flynn’s thudding heart counted the seconds until city guards burst into the courthouse, but Yuri couldn’t go any faster.  Even the pace they were keeping now wore him out based on his strained breathing.  Flynn pictured the strong, laughing man he’d fallen head over heels for and felt a new well of loathing open up for the bastards who’d reduced Yuri to this shaking frame.  

They made it to the top of the stairs and into the court room.  Flynn’s eyes landed on the door and he had just imagined they were going to make it when the door burst open and a dozen armed guards poured into the room.  Flynn swore, but Yuri just sighed.  

“Freeze!” the one in the lead shouted and pointed a musket at Yuri.  “Be warned, if you attempt witchcraft again, we’ve been authorized to shoot to kill!”

Flynn reached for his side, but Yuri shook his head.

“Don’t,” he muttered.  “You can’t fight all of them.”

Flynn tightened his grip around Yuri.  “What else em I supposed to do?”

“Get on your knees!” the guard demanded while the recruits behind him began edging up the side aisles to surround them.  

Yuri let go of Flynn and fell forward.

“No!”  Flynn dropped to grab him again.

“Get out of here, Flynn,” Yuri whispered.

“I’m not leaving you.”

“You can’t get me out.”

Yuri said it so matter-of-factly that the words struck home.  There was no fear, or depression, or regret in his voice - just exhausted resignation.  Flynn wanted to argue, but Yuri was right.  He had no way to overpower this many guards, and Yuri was in no condition to make a run for it and dodge past them.  There was nothing to do now but accept that he’d bungled his plan B, there was no plan C, and all he could do now was run away and hope they didn’t punish Yuri too harshly for his screw-up.

* * *

 

When Flynn had appeared at Yuri’s door last night, he’d thought it was a dream.  Certainly he’d dreamed often enough about miraculous rescues and getting the hell out of this place.  Now that he was back in his cell again, he wondered if he was in a nightmare instead.  He didn’t know what they planned to do to him, but knew it wouldn’t be good.  Dawn came slowly to the basement, but he shuddered when he realized the day would be starting soon.  The light creeping in through the tiny window in the door to the jail told him that Cumore would be down here any minute to deliver the consequences of last night’s escape attempt.  

Yuri half-heartedly glanced around the room and wondered if there was a way to quickly kill himself with just straw and the threadbare clothes on his back.  He tipped his head back against the cold wall and closed his eyes; the only option would be smashing his head against the floor and he doubted he could force himself to do it with enough force for a quick death.  More likely, he’d just hurt himself more and already his head throbbed under the bandage Estelle had wound around his head.  Might as well just burn to death at this point. Unfortunately, Yuri knew he could never bring himself to confess.  The satisfaction and triumph on Cumore’s face would be unbearable.  After everything he’d been through, caving in and giving Cumore what he wanted now would be as painful as the execution itself.  This meant his only option was to wait for the torture to finally kill him, and who knew how long that would take.  Yuri squeezed his eyes shut and hated his life.  If ever there was a time to cry….  He couldn’t, though.  At least this time he had the excuse of being dehydrated.  It was just as well; his face hurt already and contorting it with tears would just make it worse.  

The sound of approaching footsteps made his heart sink lower.  He should never have left his cell last night.  Believing Flynn could really fix things had been naive and now he was going to pay for it.  

Cumore stopped in front of his cell and looked down at him.  “So.  I heard about your little adventure last night.”

“Hm.”  Yuri folded his arms and looked away.  

“How did you get out of your cell?”

Yuri shrugged.

Cumore glanced down the hall and then crouched.  In a low voice, he said, “I don’t believe for one second you can use sorcery.  You didn’t use magical mumbo-jumbo to get out of here, so who helped you?”

Yuri had suspected since the beginning that Cumore didn’t really believe in all this witchcraft nonsense, but it was nice to have his beliefs confirmed.  “What are you gonna do if I don’t tell you?  Torture me?”  Yuri forced a harsh, barking laugh.  “Oh, no, I’m quaking in my boots.”  That was the nice thing about where he was: nothing Cumore could threaten him with was worse than what he already anticipated.  

“Alright then.  We’ll try out something new today.”  

Cumore left to fetch his assistants and Yuri closed his eyes again.  Whatever new horror Cumore had in store for him, he hoped it killed him.  

Ten minutes later, guards were dragging him down the hall to the hated room.  Yuri wanted to walk himself so that he didn’t feel so helpless, but couldn’t keep up with the pace they demanded.  Cumore pushed open the door and Yuri entered the chamber he’d spent most of his days in over the last month.  This time, they took him toward a wooden chair that had been dragged into the middle of the room.  Yuri took one look at the spikes jutting up from the arm and back rests and wished he had the strength to run away.  

They turned him around and pushed him down.  The seat of the chair was mercifully flat, but then they took his wrists, twisted them palm up, and slammed them into the armrests.  He shouted as the half-inch long spikes drove into the backs of his arms and iron cuffs snapped over his wrists.  Instinct led him to try to pull his arms up, but the cuffs and twisted position kept him from moving them enough to make a difference and all he did was slide the spikes in and out of the puncture wounds.  Then they shoved his torso back so more spikes dug into him, and buckled a leather strap around his chest to keep him from leaning forward.  Blood trickled down his torso, tickling him and making the scratchy shirt cling to his back.  His ankles were locked into similar iron cuffs positioned on a board connecting the front legs of the chair, but at least there were no spikes down there.  

Cumore gestured to one of his assistants.  “Get the boot.”  To Yuri, he said, “Your actions last night are indisputable proof you are a witch. We have added the assault on the guard to your list of charges.  In the face of this new evidence, do you still deny your guilt?”

Yuri lifted his head and looked to the scribe sitting nearby as always.  Yuri almost hated that man even more than Cumore, because Cumore might be a monster but this was just some desk worker who took diligent notes of all the worst experiences of Yuri’s life like it was just another day at the office.  “Yeah.  I’m not a fucking witch.”

The guard came back with what was apparently the ‘boot’ but looked more like two long, curved pieces of metal with spikes on the concave side.  They both had metal tabs on the top and bottom, but one had long screws sticking out and the other had holes.  Obviously, the screws fit into the holes and you could tighten the screws to bring the plates closer together.  All in all, it seemed like a very large thumbscrew.  Cumore directed the plates to be fastened around Yuri’s right leg.  The bottom stopped just above his instep and the top reached an inch below his knee.  They screwed it into position just enough so that the plates held together and the tips of the spikes pressed uncomfortably against Yuri’s skin, threatening to draw blood.  He dreaded the thought of what would happen when the screws were turned tighter and those iron plates crushed his leg between them.  He could almost feel the cracking of his shin just thinking about it.  

“Confess now or you might lose that leg.”

“Ugh… fuck off.”  He hoped he did lose the leg, because then maybe he’d bleed out before they could get Estelle in here and this nightmare would finally be over.    

* * *

 

That morning, Flynn brought his money to the courthouse.  He hated giving so much money to someone he loathed so much, but he couldn’t help Yuri from in jail.  He didn’t know how he was going to help Yuri from out of jail, but it was a start.  

Flynn walked into the courthouse and paused in the entrance as a thought occurred to him.  Cumore wasn’t going to relent until he burned a witch, and Yuri had the misfortune having being the easiest target.  It wasn’t like Cumore actually cared about killing Yuri specifically, though.  Flynn frowned on his way to Ragou’s office, fiddling with the coins in his purse.  The idea that had occurred to him was too reckless, and had too slim a chance of actually working.  He knocked on the office door and mulled it over as he waited for a response.  His last plan to help Yuri had only made things worse; he couldn’t charge into another one without carefully considering it. 

Ragou called him in and Flynn tossed the bag of money on the desk.  “The fine you requested.”

Ragou’s eyes lit up at the clink of coins and pulled the purse toward him.  He wasted no time in pulling out the gold coins to count them.  Flynn wondered if the fine the parlement had levied against him had actually only been twenty louis, and he would be pocketing the five extra for himself.  “Yes, very good.  Everything seems to be in order.  You’re dismissed.”

Flynn turned to leave, happy to get out of Ragou’s presence.  He had taken one step when a horrible scream filled the courthouse.  Even though it was muffled by the floor and doors between them, it was loud enough to stop Flynn in his tracks.  He recognized Yuri’s voice, but he’d never heard it like this: broken, desperate, and overwhelmed.  As long as he heard it, he couldn’t move.  Yuri meant the world to him and trying to imagine what they were doing to him to make such a wail made him feel faint.  They were going to keep doing this to him until he died of it and Flynn was just standing here.

“Is there a problem?” Ragou asked over the tail end of the scream.

Flynn clenched his fists.  “No.  No problem.”  Everything he’d thought about not being reckless had been thrown out the window with that scream.  Caution only worked when there was time to spare, but he couldn’t bear to leave Yuri down there any longer than absolutely necessary.  

He hurried out of the courthouse.  His half-baked plan could finish cooking on his way to the tavern.  The whole way there, Yuri’s scream kept echoing in his head.  He had to do something… he couldn’t leave Yuri like that… abandoning him last night had been the worst idea… how could he have just walked out and left Yuri to be re-captured?  It was all his fault that scream had even happened.  

At the tavern, he thankfully spotted who he was looking for and hurried across the room.  “Raven.”

Raven looked up from his drink.  “Eh?  Oh, hey, kid.  Need somethin’?”

“I need to talk to you privately, please.”  Flynn’s whole body vibrated as he led Raven outside.  His pan was at least three-quarters-baked by now, which was good enough for sharing.  In an alley off the main street, he took a deep breath and said, “I need you to do me a favour.  It’s for Yuri.  I’m asking you because I know Estelle would refuse.”

“Uh… sure.  What kind of favour?”

Flynn explained.  Raven’s eyebrows rose as he did so and when Flynn finished asking, Raven said, “Are you sure?”

“I’m sure.”

Raven whistled.  “Damn, kid.  You’ve got guts.”

“You’ll do it, then?”

Raven nodded.  “If you really want to got through with this… yeah, I’ll do it.”

Flynn let out a breath and closed his eyes.  “Thank you.”  This time, his plan to save Yuri would not fail.  


	21. Star-Crossed

Flynn was in the dining room when someone banged on his door. He'd been waiting for it ever since his discussion with Raven this morning. Leblanc gave him a look and then went to answer it while Flynn savoured the last spoonful of monkfish soup. It would be a while before he had a good meal again. The commotion from the front room caused him to set his spoon down and stand. Moments later, Cumore burst into the room with three armed guards.

Flynn put on his best surprised face. "What is the meaning of this?"

"I"m sorry, sir!" Leblanc said from behind them. "They just pushed in!"

"Flynn Scifo," Cumore said with a hungry gleam in his eye, "you are under arrest for suspicion of witchcraft. Will you come quietly or will we have to use force?"

"Witchcraft? Don't be ridiculous."

The guards rounded the table and closed in on Flynn. When they reached for him, Flynn shook them off until they used more force and grabbed his arms.

"Unhand me!" Flynn fought against their grip as they pulled his hands behind his back to cuff them. "You've already caught the witch!"

Cumore rubbed his hands together and smiled. "Another accusation has come in. It would be unprofessional of us not to investigate every allegation, just in case."

With his hands cuffed behind his back, Flynn was pushed forward by the guards. He put up a token resistance and then followed them out the room. It would be better if there was a way to do this without giving Cumore so much satisfaction, but he'd take what he could get. Outside, every resident they passed stopped to watch with curiosity. Flynn didn't meet any eyes and kept his face forward as he was marched to the courthouse. When they arrived, the door banged shut behind him and he couldn't help thinking about Yuri. The door had slammed shut on him the day he was arrested, and he hadn't set foot outside this building since. At least Flynn knew that with Cumore up here, Yuri wasn't being actively tortured at the moment.

They took Flynn to the same cuffed chair Yuri had sat in and made him sit. Flynn let them cuff his wrists to it without a fight, but still felt uneasy as they clicked into place. This was what he had planned, but he hadn't had much time to work out the details of the plan and it was too late now to back out. He just had to sit back, let it happen, and hope he hadn't made a horrible mistake.

Ragou sat at the high table, along with the scribe. Ragou folded his hands and tried to hide how excited he was to have a victim with actual wealth to steal. "Are you Flynn Scifo?"

"I am."

"Flynn Scifo, you stand accused of using witchcraft to kill residents of Zaphias via the plague and to prolong your life against the will of God. How do you respond?"

"That's preposterous. These lies are completely unfounded."

"I shall be the one to decide that. Bring out the accuser."

A door at the back opened and Raven entered. He stared at Flynn for a moment and then glanced away to hide his guilty expression. Flynn had assured Raven this was what he wanted, so he hoped Raven didn't ruin everything by retracting his accusation. Raven took his place standing next to Flynn with his hands folded behind his back.

"State your name and relationship with the accused," Ragou said.

"My proper name is Schwann Oltorain… I have no formal relationship with the accused but I've gathered information on him at the request of my lord, Alexei Dinoia."

"What sort of information?"

Raven glanced at Flynn, then began. He spilled every piece of Flynn's past that Raven had dug up during his investigation, tracing Flynn's history from Zaphias to Kemper, Rennes, and Saint-Malo. Flynn sat motionless through all of this and tried to keep his face blank. By the time Raven finished, Ragou and the scribe were looking at each other with confusion. It must be a surprise to them to come across a suspect with actual evidence of sorcery.

After Raven finished, Ragou said, "Well, Scifo? How do you explain this timeline?"

Flynn was quiet for a moment and then shrugged. "I look very good for my age."

"Why did you wait so long to bring this evidence to us?" Ragou demanded of Raven. "By your claims, you've known about his history since May."

Raven rubbed the back of his head. "Yeah, well, I thought he was a witch. I figured he'd turn me inta a newt if I said anything, y'know? But after your guards so easily dealt with that other witch's escape attempt, I figured it'd be safe ta turn him in."

"Very sensible," Cumore said. "What about your accusation about the plague?"

"Oh, yeah," Raven said. "Well, I did some diggin', and it turns out that just before the plague began, Scifo was in Saint-Malo purchasing huge amounts of pennyroyal from an apothecarist over there. I figured, he's the real source of the herbs Lowelll was accused of spreadin' around."

Flynn had told Raven that detail, but assumed Cumore could investigate himself if he wanted proof.

"Do you have an explanation for this, Scifo?"

Flynn shrugged again. "I like the smell."

Ragou and Cumore stared at him. Flynn wondered if he should put more effort into trying to look innocent because they might get suspicious about how easy he was making this for them.

Luckily, the idea that someone might be getting the better of them did not seem to occur to either Ragou or Cumore, because Ragou then said, "Well, Mr. Scifo, it seems to me like there is plenty of evidence to warrant a proper investigation. Cumore, take him below."

This was all according to plan, Flynn told himself as the guards let him out of the chair and led him to the spiral staircase he'd gone down last night. He was probably the first person in the country to  _want_  to be in this position. They led him to the annex and then through the door to the long hall lined with cells. Cumore opened a door on the right and pushed Flynn into the small cell.

"I hope you manage to think of some more enjoyable excuses before the trial," he said as he slammed the door shut. "Or else you'll be looking like your friend over there soon enough." He jerked his thumb over his shoulder to the cell opposite, where Yuri was watching silently.

"I'll consider that, thank you."

Cumore and the guards left Flynn to get comfortable on the straw. Once the door slammed shut and they were alone, Yuri spoke. "Why are you here?" Flynn sat close to the bars, but Yuri leaned against the back wall so he was partly in shadow. It helped disguise how wretched he looked, but not by much. At least his hair had started to regrow and was now a shaggy mop. It didn't look like Yuri, but it at least looked like an intentional hairstyle.

"Because I was accused of witchcraft, of course."

"Who by?"

"Raven, technically."

Yuri started to react with shock, but Flynn held up a head to quiet him.

"Don't get mad. I told him to."

"…Huh?"

Flynn forced his cheeks into a smile, which was difficult to do while looking at Yuri. "I'm going to get you out of here. I'll take all the blame for what you've been charged with and get you found innocent."

Yuri shook his head. "They won't believe it. They're already convinced I'm a witch."

"Cumore and Ragou don't really care. They're only in it for the money. They get all the wealth of any witch they convict, so I'm sure they'll jump at the chance to take me instead of you."

"So they'll just kill both of us. Damn, Flynn, did you think this through at all?"

Flynn nodded. "Yes. That's why I'm going to convince them you were my clueless pawn in all of this and take total responsibility. It will be easy for me to convince them, considering I legitimately have magical powers."

Yuri stared at him for a long moment. "You're planning to die for me."

Flynn met Yuri's eyes and then nodded once. "Yes. I am."

"Don't. I never asked for you to go to such a length."

"I know you didn't, but I'm going to anyway. When you were sick, I wanted so badly to save you. Just those brief seconds when I thought you were dead were unbearable. I could have saved you, but I chose not to. I hated myself and wanted to turn back time and save you." Flynn got to his knees and leaned forward with his hands against the bars. "I couldn't, and luckily you managed to pull through. But now you're going to die again, and once again I have a way to save you. I will not let this opportunity slide by again. I have to save you."

"No." Yuri shifted and looked like he wanted to get closer, but didn't have the strength to leave the wall he was slumped against. "I can't let you die in my place."

Flynn had suspected this. "We don't even know if I can actually die. I probably can't, since I'm technically a ghost. You, however, can definitely die. It's better for this to happen to me."

"I won't let you."

"You can't stop me." Flynn shook his head slowly. "I'm going to confess. Either you can go along with it and pretend I manipulated you, or you can die with me. I'd prefer you didn't do the latter, because then my sacrifice will be pointless."

Yuri growled in frustration. "You are a manipulative shithead. You goddamn… you come in here and do this without consulting me…." He weakly punched the floor. "I don't want you to die for me!"

Flynn's fingers curled around the bars. "And I just as fervently don't want you to die - period. I know I do a good job of faking it, but remember, I'm already dead. I had my shot at life, but yours is still happening. One of us is going to be killed, so please, let it be me."

Yuri let out a long groan. "Well, I have to now, don't I? You said it yourself. You got yourself into this nightmare and they're guaranteed to kill you now to get your money. Either we both die or just you die. You fucker. Did you even consider what kind of life you're saving for me?"

"What do you mean?"

Yuri gestured vaguely at the leg stretched out before him. "I guess you can't see from there, but this mangled mess is a write-off. Pretty sure my joints are all permanently fucked up, too. Everyone in town hates me. I can't have Repede live with me anymore. So congratulations, you saved me from burning to death, but my life's already fucked up beyond repair."

Flynn shook his head. "Don't think like that. As long as you're alive, you have the chance to do something with your life. Leave Zaphias if you can, go to New France like you suggested, take your friends with you. I wish I was still alive and had that freedom."

"I guess…. Wish I could do it with you."

Flynn smiled sadly. "Me, too. I wish we could have met in another time or another place… I wish you'd been born when I was, so I would have met you as a kid and maybe not gone off to the army and gotten killed."

Yuri snorted. "With our luck, something else would have come up."

"Heh. True enough." Flynn sighed and shifted off his knees to sit cross-legged. "No matter what we do, we keep running into roadblocks. It seems like we just weren't meant to be. But even if the stars are against us and we only had a short chance to really be together… I'm glad I got to spend that brief time with you. I love you, Yuri."

Yuri hesitated and then glanced away, the words stuck in his throat. "Yeah… me too."

"I don't know what's on the other side of the menhir, but I hope I have a chance to meet you there."

"By your plan, you're dying in the next few days and I'll keep living for a few more decades."

"That's ok. I'll wait for you."

"Even if it takes fifty years?"

"Even if it takes a hundred years."

* * *

 

If Flynn’s plan accomplished nothing else, at least Yuri got a few days of peace while Cumore was busy preparing the case against Flynn.  Yuri spent most of it sleeping, so Flynn spent the time sitting quietly and reminiscing.  He had a feeling Niren would not approve of his plan, but it was too late to worry about that.  Niren had advised against getting too involved with humans, and Flynn had tried to maintain that.  The first time he’d let himself get emotionally attached to a mortal, it ended with him throwing everything away to save him.  This was why Niren had told him not to get involved.  If it turned out that he could survive being burned at the stake, he would learn from this and not make this mistake again.  He loved being with Yuri, but Yuri had led to him making all these unprofessional decisions. It was his duty to remain impartial and uninvolved, no matter what.  

Flynn knew his plan was going well when they took him to search for a witch’s mark.  The scar on his chest that Alexei had left indicated a terrible wound that couldn’t possibly be survived, and yet here he was.  Cumore had been looking for a freckle he could dress up as proof of sorcery, and Flynn had enjoyed his stunned face when confronted with the real thing.  

The day of the trail, Flynn didn’t fight as they led him upstairs.  He’d spent the preceding days rehearsing in his head what he would say and how to make sure Yuri was exonerated.  At the door to the courtroom, they stopped to wait and the guard next to him spoke softly.

“Mr Scifo… I urge you to confess.”

“Why?”

“Because I don’t think you’re an evil witch.”

Flynn turned his head.  “You think I’m innocent, so you want me to confess?”

He nodded.  “They’re going to find you guilty no matter what you do.  You can either be executed now or executed after torture, and I’d rather not see you tortured.  The other guy, Lowell… he’s not a witch, either, and I don’t want to see anyone else go through what Cumore’s done to him.”

Flynn clenched the fists that were cuffed behind his back.  “If you know Cumore is torturing and executing innocent men, why don’t you speak up and do something about it?”

“Because Cumore tortures and executes innocent men.

Flynn paused for a beat.  “That’s fair.”

The guard shifted awkwardly. “Look, I have a wife and kids… well, kid, since the plague….  They need me.  I can’t risk making my wife into a widow, so the only help I can give you is the advice to please just confess and get it over with.”

“Thank you for the advice.”  At least he wasn’t the only one who recognized how bullshit the justice system was.

The door opened and the guard nudged Flynn forward.  The rows of benches were filled once more, though not as full as Yuri’s trial.  After all, they’d seen a witch trial before so this was old news, and Flynn wasn’t nearly as personally well-known in the community.  After he took a seat and the guard finished cuffing him to the chair, Flynn noticed that what this trial lost in quantity of spectators, it made up for in quality.  Alexei sat at the table beside Ragou, and Duke stood by the window to watch from the sidelines.  Flynn looked to Alexei, who kept his face carefully blank as he surveyed the room.  

Ragou banged his gavel to silence the room.  “First, let us acknowledge our Lord Alexei Dinoia, who has graciously joined us today to oversee the proceedings.  Now, Flynn Scifo, you are charged with using witchcraft to supernaturally extend your youth and to worsen the effects of the plague.  How do you respond?”

It wasn’t time yet.  He had to let Cumore lay out all the evidence to make it truly believable.  He noticed the guard from earlier giving him a pleading look from behind Ragou’s table, but ignored him.  “I deny it.  I’m not a witch.”

“Of course you say that.  Mr. Cumore, if you would.”  

Cumore stepped forward looking gleeful.  “Gladly.  First of all, the mark we found on his body is clear proof of witchcraft.  There is a scar over his left breast that appears to be the result of a gunshot wound.  To have survived a injury like that is unprecedented.”

Flynn glanced to Alexei again, whose eyes had widened.  Alexei had invited Cumore here specifically because he suspected something about Flynn, but how ready had he been to have his impossible suspicions confirmed?

“This mark is proof enough of witchcraft, but there’s more.  Schwann Oltorain, the accuser, will now provide his evidence.”

Raven stepped in to once again recite his findings.  He watched the far wall as he spoke, clearly still uncomfortable with what Flynn had asked him to do.  Flynn felt bad about dragging him into this, and even worse about the awkward conversation Raven would surely be having with Estelle, Rita, and Karol after this was over.  The room was silent while Raven spoke, listening in shock to the details of Flynn’s timeline.  Every time Flynn’s gaze turned to Alexei, he was staring intently at Flynn, silently daring him to provide a satisfactory explanation.  

When Raven finished, Cumore turned on Flynn.  “How do you explain this, Scifo?”

Flynn leaned casually back in the chair.  “He’s clearly mistaken.  Just because someone else has the same name as me doesn’t mean that was me.”

“In what year were you born?”

“16…” Flynn hadn’t anticipated this question and authentically scrambled to subtract twenty-five from 1628 to provide, “…03.”

“You seem uncertain.”

“It’s not a date I put much thought into.”

“Your birth year?”

“I like to concentrate on the present.”

Cumore gave him a look that said Flynn was doing an excellent job of looking guilty.  Good.  

The next witness was a teenage girl who fidgeted with the apron of her skirt as she stood before the court.  

“Explain what you heard, miss,” Cumore told her.

“Um… yes, ok.  It was when m-my mother was dying.”  She paused and blinked furiously to dispel sudden tears.  “Right at the end… I heard her muttering to herself.  But then she said, ‘Aren’t you Mr. Scifo?’ and she looked like she was staring at something, but I didn’t see anything in the room.”

Cumore nodded.  “So Scifo appeared in spectral form to kill your mother?”

The girl quickly bobbed her head.  “I - I think so.”

Flynn didn’t remember that incident in particular.  He had visited a lot of dying women over the summer, and it was typical to be able to see an Ankou in the final hour or so before death.  He must have arrived just before she died.  

The next person called was a young boy.  He may have been the same boy who testified at Yuri’s trial, but Flynn didn’t know the children of Zaphias well enough to tell them apart.  He wiped his nose on his wrist before starting his story.  

“This was back on May Day.  Me and the others were out playing in the ocean when Ted went too far out. I didn’t really see what happened but then Flynn came running and splashing out to us.  He brought Ted back to the beach but Ted wasn’t breathing.”  He fidgeted with his hands.  “I mean… we all thought Ted was gonna die.  He was really still.  And then Flynn did this thing where he like… looked like he was kissing Ted?  And pushing on his chest.  I don’t know what that was all about but then he just pressed his hand against Ted and then Ted sat right up!  It was like magic.”

Murmurs sprang up through the courtroom and Alexei exchanged a quick glance with Ragou.  A lot of spectators were going to be telling their friends they missed a better trial, because this one had a lot more real evidence.  

Cumore shooed the boy away.  “In addition to this and Oltorain’s testimony, I did my own investigation in Scifo’s business ties.  Let me ask you, Scifo: what do you actually sell?”

“Hm?”

“You persist that you are a merchant.”  Cumore stood in front of him now.  “But what do you actually  _do_?  Where does the money come from?  Several people report seeing you leave on business trips, but there is no evidence of business being done on any of those trips.”

Flynn shrugged.  “I like to keep my business private.”

“And that business is?”

“That’s personal.”

“So you refuse to divulge the source of your wealth or account for your whereabouts when you leave town.  I don’t have any further witnesses, but what I’ve already presented should be proof enough.”

“Do you have anything to say in your defence?” Ragou asked.

All eyes turned on him, but Flynn only paid attention to Alexei, who stared at him intently.  Flynn pretended to think this over with a concerned expression and then said, “No.  I have nothing else to say.”

Ragou couldn’t hold back his triumphant smile.  “Then I have no choice but to find you guilty of all you are charged with. Do you freely confess to being a witch?”

The room went silent as they listened with bated breath.  The guard was giving Flynn a pleading expression, while Duke simply appeared very tired.  

“No….”  The guard cringed.  Flynn bowed his head.  “There’s no point in trying to convince you I’m innocent.  I’m not stupid enough to think anything I can say now will make a difference.  So no, I am not a witch.  I am a revenant.”

This set off the murmurs once again.  Alexei paled while Duke straightened up, more interested than weary now.  Ragou and Cumore exchanged confused looks.

“You’re… a what?” Ragou asked. 

“I am a revenant,” he said firmly and clearly and raised his head again.  “I was born here in Zaphias in 1578.  I joined the military when I was seventeen years old, and served for seven years.”  He looked directly at Alexei now.  “Until I was returning home and Lord Alexei murdered me.”

Furious whispers spread through the room while everyone’s attention diverted to Alexei.  

“I’ve come back,” Flynn raised his voice over the din, “to take vengeance on him and his land.”

“This is preposterous!” Alexei slammed his fist into the table.

“You killed me.”  Flynn straightened up in the chair.  “We were  _friends_!  And then you shot me on New Year’s Eve, in sight of my home!” After so many years of harbouring this fury, it was ecstasy to finally shout it at Alexei.  He regretted letting himself get shackled to the chair, because it prevented him from punching the bastard.  “You pushed me into the ravine and abandoned me there to bleed out in the snow!” 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Cumore looked between Flynn and Alexei with confusion; clearly this trial was going in directions he hadn’t anticipated.  “You have no proof of these allegations.”

“Like that’s ever stopped you,” Flynn snarled.  He looked to Duke, then, and said, “Look me up in the baptism records from 1578.  My parents were Finath and Norein.  Look me up in military records and find the proof that I left the military in 1599.  Talk to the innkeeper in Lambal - maybe he remembers having the actual Lord Alexei as a patron at his tavern back in December of 1599 and can corroborate that Alexei left with another soldier.”

The horror on Alexei’s face brought Flynn more pleasure than he’d like to admit.  Alexei, at least, was convinced of Flynn’s identity.  

“This is ridiculous,” Ragou said.  “Why would Lord Alexei kill a simple soldier?”

“Don’t ask him that,” Alexei said quickly.  “You’re only encouraging his lies.”

“What’s the matter?” Flynn smirked.  “Don’t you want them to know the truth?  About how you murdered your brother during the Siege of Amiens?”

“Slander!  You have no proof of any of this.”

“Your brother ordered a suicide attack on Amiens.  Any of the surviving members of the battalion could attest to that, if anyone cared to track them down.  You killed your brother in the heat of battle, then took command and called off the raid.  But I saw you do it, so you murdered me before I could make it home and tell the truth about what you’d done.”

“These are just the ramblings of a witch trying to discredit me,” Alexei said to the crowd.  “Witches are known to have deceptive tongues.”

“For twenty-eight years you lived as the lord of this land, a title stolen from your murdered brother.  You think it’s a coincidence I arrived in town on New Year’s Day, the anniversary of my murder?  I came back from the dead to tear you down and bring the plague down upon all the land in your possession.”

“Impossible,” Alexei said.  “There is no return from the dead.”

Flynn smiled evilly, or at least he tried to and hoped it was convincing.  “There is with the power of Satan.  I made a deal with him as I lie dying in the snow.  He has given me immense power.  I’m almost glad you finally caught me; it killed me to see that pathetic Yuri Lowell get credit for my work.”

Ragou frowned.  “Your work?”

“Do you really think that worthless peasant is strong enough or clever enough to be an agent of my dark master?  It was hard enough getting him to be a simple lackey.  He didn’t know what he was doing, of course.  When I told him the plague was spread by the fleas on rats, the idiot actually believed me and willingly spread my cursed pennyroyal leaves.  He was just useful enough that I healed him when he was on his death bed, just like I did to Ted.  I had hoped that boy could be a replacement out of gratitude to me, but unfortunately he died before I could use him.  And then you lot stupidly gave Yuri credit for all my hard work.  _I_  seduced the Lagadeg girl to sire a child born of evil and I summoned the blizzard that would keep away more experienced birth attendants who might recognize the signs of my work.  A pity the child wasn’t strong enough to survive the plague after all that effort.  I was the ghost in the graveyard who tormented the children; you already heard testimony from the other girl that I can turn myself invisible.”

The crowd had finally stopped talking and now listened in silent terror.  Flynn wondered if cackling would be overdoing it.

“I tried to get Yuri out the other night.  Even though he was too stupid to realize witchcraft was happening around him, he was mine.  The other night, I turned myself invisible and broke into the courthouse.  I saw the guard on duty playing solitaire, and then threw a bible across the room to lure him up.”

The guard at the back was looking at Cumore in shock; those details hadn’t been made public.  

Cumore looked back to Flynn in shock.  “You… you can’t possibly expect us to believe you’re a vengeful spirit.  You have no evidence.”

Flynn lowered his head.  “Oh, but your ‘evidence’ was enough to prove Yuri was a witch?”  Flynn took a breath and closed his eyes.  He hated doing this because it made his skin crawl and made him feel disturbingly inhuman.  A bit of a spectacle was necessary, though.  When he raised his head to face the high table, a grinning skull replaced his face with flames burning in the pits of his eyes.  Ragou cried out and nearly fell off his chair, the scribe crossed himself with a gape of terror, Cumore took a few staggering steps back, and Alexei rose quickly, hands on the table.  The vision faded and Flynn let his normal face reappear, but the impact had been done.  “Do you believe me now?”

“Sorcery!” Ragou shouted.  

“That’s right.  I came to bring despair to your town and I succeeded.  I hope you all remember that Alexei Dinoia is to blame.”

Alexei gritted his teeth while the whole room stared at him.  

Ragou banged his gavel again to get everyone’s attention.  “Flynn Scifo - or, or, whatever you are - you have been found guilty of sorcery and for your vile crimes will be burned at the stake until dead.”

“Go ahead.”  Flynn kept riding on the high produced by Alexei’s panic.  “I’m already dead - thanks to Alexei.  Kill me again for all I care; I’ve already brought this town to its knees.”

“Ragou,” Cumore said, “add Scifo’s testimony to Lowell’s case as additional proof of witchcraft.”

Flynn’s heart skipped a beat and he almost broke character to cry out in panic.  All of this had been to save Yuri - not testify further against him!

Thankfully, someone else stepped in.  Duke cleared his throat as he left his quiet place by the wall and called the room’s attention.  “It would appear to me as if Scifo’s testimony has just exonerated Lowell.”

“Ridiculous,” Ragou said.  “Scifo just admitted he was involved in witchcraft.”

“If you reread the transcript,” Duke gestured to the scribe who had been furiously scribbling all of this down, “you will notice that Scifo’s account specifically points out that Lowell had no idea he was involved in witchcraft and was only an unwitting pawn in this case.”

Cumore waved his head.  “We have his own trial to prove his guilt.”

“A conviction proven by conclusions Scifo has just proven false.  You cannot convict both Scifo  _and_  Lowell of using dark magic to sire the child of Mari Lagadeg, for example.  And Scifo’s confession to summoning the blizzard means Lowell could not have been guilty of that.  Either Lowell is a witch and Scifo is lying about everything, or Scifo is a vengeful revenant who tricked an innocent man into doing his bidding.  You cannot have both.  Given the physical evidence we have just seen, I am inclined to believe Scifo is telling the truth.”

Ragou and Cumore shared a look.

Alexei said, “Scifo is a liar.  Everything he said about his involvement with me is baseless slander.”

Duke gazed at Alexei impassively.  “We have seen him demonstrate irrefutable proof that he is a supernatural entity.  Perhaps he is lying about your role in his death,” though Duke’s face said he didn’t believe it, “but I do believe he is the supernatural one in this situation.”

Alexei nodded. “Yes.  He is clearly an evil entity who has chosen to attempt to defame me along with kill the town.  He is the enemy here.  Ragou, I want him burned.”

Duke said, “And so therefore, Lowell must be found innocent.”

Ragou curled his lips and tried to find a way out, but in the face of the lord and the priest, he had to agree.  “Yes, Father.  Of course.  He is, however, guilty of carrying out the witch’s evil deeds, even unknowingly.  For this, he will be sentenced to two months in prison with regular sessions on the pillory.”

Flynn breathed out and his muscles relaxed.  It had worked.  Yuri was off the hook.  They were going to burn him, but Yuri had been spared.  Getting Yuri out of jail right away would be preferable, but as long as it had a set end date and wouldn’t end in death, Flynn was content.  


	22. Ashes to Ashes

Yuri looked up when he heard people approach. The guards opened the cell door across from him and pushed Flynn into. Yuri looked to Flynn questioningly, but Ragou stepped before him first.

"Yuri Lowell," Ragou said looking bored, "you have been found innocent of witchcraft."

Yuri tried to react to this. He'd dreamt of hearing these words all month, but it was hard to be thrilled when he knew it meant Flynn had successfully taken his place. His excitement was also soured by the deep, throbbing pain throughout his body. He'd gone through so much abuse just to be found innocent. He doubted they would even give him an apology, but he preferred it that way. A worthless 'sorry for torturing you' would just piss him off more.

"However, you have been found guilty of aiding a witch, albeit unknowingly, and for those crimes you are sentenced to two months in prison."

"Does the month I've already spent in here for a crime you just found me innocent of count toward that?"

"No."

Yuri closed his eyes for a second. "Figures."

"Your imprisonment will be interspersed with a three hour session on the pillory every other day, beginning tomorrow."

Yuri glowered at him. "How do you expect me to stand there for three hours when I can't stand on this leg at all?" It had been four days since they'd crushed his lower leg in the boot, and it still hurt just as much as the first day. No one had bothered setting it, so he'd had to contend with half-assed bandages to stop the bleeding both from where the spikes dug in and shards of bone pierced out.

Ragou wrinkled his nose at the sight of Yuri's mangled leg wrapped in blood-stained bandages. "A nurse will see to you. Beyond that, it isn't my concern." He whirled around and strode away.

When he was gone and they were alone, Yuri looked to Flynn. "How did it go?"

Flynn sat near the bars and leaned against the wall. "Fantastic. They found me guilty and I'm to be burned at the stake tomorrow."

Yuri sat quietly for a moment. It was supposed to be him. Flynn shouldn't have stepped in to take his fate. Flynn was just… so much. He was the Ankou, he was kind, smart, hard working, and a joy to be around. He'd been all across France, seen fifty years worth of events, and knew so many secrets about the world. Yuri was always one step behind, always slightly confused over what a man like Flynn saw in a penniless peasant like him. Even worse, Yuri was now crippled and a social outcast. If only one of their lives could continue, it seemed obvious that it ought to be Flynn. Exchanging Flynn's life for Yuri's was like exchanging a pile of gold for a smudged sous. If he had the choice, he would have taken Flynn's place in a heartbeat. And for whatever reason, Flynn seemed to feel the same way about him. Yuri wanted to be furious with Flynn for throwing his life away, except he knew he would do the same thing were their positions swapped.

"Are you sure you want to do this?"

"It's too late to change my mind now." Flynn's gave him a smile that radiated love. "But even so, yes. I am."

Yuri looked away with a strained breath. God, he didn't deserve Flynn. "You jerk," he muttered. "How am I ever supposed to repay you for this?"

"Live a good life for me. That's all I want. Grow old like I never got a chance to. Find someone who makes you even half as happy as you make me. Make the most of it. You made me feel alive for the first time in thirty years, so it's only right that I'm giving that back to you."

"I'll… do what I can."

Yuri and Flynn talked long into the night. Yuri was so tired, but every time he thought about going to sleep, he remembered that Flynn was going to die the next day, so he clung onto this one as long as he could. He told Flynn stories about growing up, even the embarrassing ones he'd never been willing to share before while Flynn told him about his travels across France and all the incredible things he'd seen. He told stories about Ankous from years past and ghosts he'd escorted. His stories were so full of wonder, but he listened to Yuri's tales of an average life with equal interest. Deep in conversation, Yuri even managed to forget that this was to be their last and distracted himself from all his pains. He finally fell asleep close to dawn. Despite knowing what the morning would hold, he had the soundest sleep he'd had for weeks because for once his mind had not been dwelling on how much he hurt when he fell asleep.

* * *

 

Flynn sat in the same basement room where they’d search him for a witch’s mark, though thankfully he wasn’t suspended from the ceiling this time.  His hands were cuffed behind him and his ankles together, and then rope around his chest.  They couldn’t be too careful with an evil spirit.  

He wasn’t sure exactly when the execution was scheduled for, but he hoped it was in the morning so he wouldn’t have to dread it all day.  As much as he was willing to do whatever it took to save Yuri, he still desperately did not want to experience the flames.  It reminded him of sitting in his tent the morning of the raid at Amiens.  He’d known he would die that day, either in the attack or of execution shortly after defying orders.   As sure as he had been about defying orders to save his men, the anticipation of actually going through with it made him nauseous.  If you had to die, Flynn knew from experience, it was better for it to be a surprise.  Getting shot by Alexei had been horrible, but at least he’d only had a few minutes of pain, rather than an entire day of imagining future pain.  

The door unlocked and Flynn sighed.  Duke would be here to give him his last rites and ask him to beg forgiveness.  It was a conversation he would rather not have, although at least he knew he could finally speak his mind about the Catholic church and not tip-toe around Duke’s feelings.  After all, even he spoke total heresy, what would they do?  Burn him at the stake twice?  

It wasn’t Duke who entered. It was Alexei.  He closed the door carefully behind him and then stood watching Flynn for such a long moment that Flynn wondered if he should start talking first.  

“So.  It seems I was correct.  I never forget a face.”  He came closer.  “Flynn….  It’s been a while.  Or at least, a while since we spoke to each other with your identity acknowledged.”

Flynn sat upright and shuffled his chained feet.  “A shame we couldn’t talk again in more comfortable circumstances.”

Alexei looked down at him, folded his arms, and smiled a little.  “Is that chair worse than the bed in… Veuil, I think it was?”

The corner of Flynn’s lips tugged upward.  “You mean the mattress that turned out to be stuffed with wood chips rather than straw?”

“The same.  You got splinters in your-”

“So did you!” Flynn quickly put in.  “Heh, getting those out were a real pain in the behind.”

For a moment, he and Alexei looked at each other with nostalgic smiles.  That trip across France had been such an incredible journey.  He and Alexei had shared so many tiny disasters and amusing diversions. On the road, it hadn’t mattered that Flynn was from the gutters and Alexei the son of a noble.  That friendship had been unlike any other, until….

It seemed Alexei’s trail of thought had arrived at the same conclusion to the story.   “You, ah, look good for your age.”

“Thank you.  You don’t.”  There was one good thing about knowing he was going to die horribly in a few hours: he had absolutely nothing to lose.  

Alexei raised his eyes at him.  “You know, I think I liked you better when you deferred to me as your superior officer.”

Flynn shrugged.  “I liked you better before you shot me and left me for dead.”  

“Hm.  I can understand that.  Your display yesterday did prove one thing, though.  I was entirely justified in eliminating you as a loose end.  Thank you for giving me closure on a decision that has haunted me these thirty years.”

Anger flashed and he momentarily justified the jailers’ choice in tying him to the chair.  “And how do you see that?”

“It’s quite simple.  I killed you because I feared you would risk the stability of Zaphias by telling the story for stupid reasons.  Now you’ve come back specifically to harm all of Zaphias just to get revenge on me.  It’s obvious I was right not to trust you with the secret; you would have used it against me some day.”

“Convince yourself of that if you like.  I thought you were smart enough to not buy into the hysteria about witchcraft causing the plague.  I had nothing to do with that, though it was a good excuse.”  Flynn had no fears about telling Alexei the truth.  Alexei had every reason to want to see Flynn burn and zero interest in Yuri.  

“Yes, I did figure your attachment to Lowell fuelled your willingness to confess to your crimes.”

“There were no crimes.  I honestly didn’t come to Zaphias to destroy you.  I just came here because it’s my hometown.  I would have been happy to live here in peace. You’re the one who kept prying into my life and tyring to figure out who I was.  You’re the one who called Cumore here to try to get rid of me.  If you had just left it alone, I never would have told the story as an excuse to get Yuri off the hook.”  

Alexei slightly creased his brow while he tried to consider this without looking like he was considering it.  “How are you here?”

“Think of me as a very convincing ghost.  If you’re wondering if you can stop feeling guilty about killing me, then no, I really did die that night.”  Flynn noticed the flicker of regret in Alexei’s face and continued.  “Not right away….  After I fell down the ravine, I managed to get up and start walking back to town.  It felt like I staggered through the snow for ages before the blood loss or the cold finally-”

“I’m not interested in your story.”  Alexei spoke too quickly, and refused to meet his eyes.

Flynn glared stubbornly back at him.  “You did it to me.  The least you could do is know the results of your actions.”

“You know I took no pleasure in your death.  I was very fond of you.”

Flynn breathed out so heavily it was closer to a growl.  “That makes it worse.  I was ready to be killed by an enemy soldier, but you… we were friends.”

“I do not allow sentimentality to influence my decisions.  You, obviously are unable to do that.”

Flynn bristled at this; leaving Yuri to die of the plague had been the hardest decision he’d ever made.  “If you think your lack of humanity before deciding to shoot me was the logically best move, you’re wrong.  Before you killed me, I’d deliberated the situation and come to the same conclusion that you did: that it would ultimately cause more unrest and instability in Zaphias and wouldn’t help anyone.  I had resolved to take that secret to the grave.  If you had just talked to me, I would have told you that.  But instead, you decided to kill me.”

Alexei stared at Flynn with a stony face.  Flynn hoped that doubt about his actions was creeping in, and that even if Flynn died today, Alexei would spend the rest of his life living in guilt.  

When Alexei spoke again, it was to say, “It doesn’t matter.  You provided no evidence but the ravings of a condemned criminal.  If you hoped your display would ruin me, you will be sorely disappointed.”

“Yes, I supposed so.”  Flynn leaned back in his chair.  “But I do remember the night you killed me quite clearly.  You said that you couldn’t risk it coming out at all - not even a rumour born out of a drunken slip.  I hope you enjoy dealing with the rumours for the rest of your life.”

“Soon enough, those rumours will be a thing of the past… as will you.  Enjoy the rest of your day, Flynn.”

He left Flynn to fume.  Flynn honestly didn’t know if he would survive today, but he hoped he did so that Alexei wouldn’t get the last word. It was odd to think that this man he hated so much had once been a close friend.  

When the door opened again, it was the visit from Duke he’d anticipated.  Duke stood before Flynn with a bible in his hands.  “Good morning.”

“Good morning.”

“I have come to offer you the opportunity to repent, so that your soul might be saved.”

Flynn shook his head slowly.  “I appreciate the offer, Father, but I don’t feel the need.”

“You confessed to killing a huge number of innocent people through the plague.  Is that not an action that needs forgiveness?”

Flynn frowned and looked away.

“Hm….”  Duke considered Flynn for a moment.  “Or could it be that your entire confession was fabricated to win freedom for Yuri Lowell?”

Flynn looked quickly to Duke and regretted how plainly he gave it away.  

“Don’t worry.  I won’t share your secret with anyone else.  If you have chosen to sacrifice your life to save that of a friend, that is an honourable act in the footsteps of our Lord and I will not interfere with your choice.”

“Thank you.”

“Although… I did consult the baptism records.  There is a record of your baptism in 1578. Additionally, I saw the skeletal and fire display at the trial.  Who… or what… are you?”

Flynn debated how much to share, but he got the feeling he could trust Duke. At least, he trusted him not say anything that would put Yuri back on the chopping block.  “Are you familiar with tales of the Ankou?”

Duke inspected Flynn’s face for a long time.  “Those are children’s stories.”

“They’re apparently relevant enough to make it to the windows of the church.”

“Ah… our ancestors believed the stories.  Amazing how traces of our ignorant pagan past can persist even to the present.  Although, considering your display at the trial, perhaps I am the one who was ignorant.”

“I know you don’t believe in witchcraft, and on that, I think you’re right.  I have seen nothing to suggest that the devil is making deals with mortals to give them supernatural power.”

“Interesting.  Thank you for your knowledge.  What about your accusations against Lord Alexei?”

Flynn’s expression hardened.  “They were all true.  I don’t have any way to prove it, but they were true.”

“I believe you.  How did he kill his brother?”

“He shot him in the back in the midst of battle and then claimed he’d been struck down by the enemy.  This was on the fourth of September, 1597.”

Duke nodded.  “It will be next to impossible to prove this.  Still, I will see to it that word of this spreads through noble circles.  The rumour alone will damage him.”

“Thank you.  I didn’t come to Zaphias to defame him, but knowing that Alexei will finally face some comeuppance for his crimes is a nice consolation before the execution.”

“Speaking of the execution, it is scheduled for only an hour from now.  Are you prepared to receive to your last rites?”

Flynn thought for a second and then shook his head.  “With all due respect, Father, I was killed thirty years ago.  The time for doing last rites has passed.”

Duke gave him a single stern nod.  “Very well. And you are entirely certain in your decision to die in Yuri Lowell’s place?”

Flynn nodded without hesitation.  “Yes.  I am.”

“May God be with you.”

* * *

Yuri had wanted to wake up early so he could spend the morning with Flynn, but his body was so exhausted he slept like a log. He didn’t wake up until someone gently touched his shoulder and then he startled, thrashing his arm at the intruder.  

“It’s just me!” said a familiar voice.

Yuri opened his eyes and clutched his throbbing hand, regretting smashing his crushed fingers against Estelle’s shoulder.  “Estelle?”

She crouched beside him with a bag next to her.  “I’m here to patch you up.  Or… at least as much as I can.”

“Oh.  Yeah, ok.”  He recalled Ragou mentioning this.  He pushed himself onto his elbows and glanced around Estelle.  The cell across from them was empty.  “Flynn.  Where’s Flynn?” Panic spiked; had the execution happened already?!

Estelle glanced over her shoulder and frowned.  “They took him to another room.  I don’t know where.”

So Flynn wasn’t _gone_ yet, but he was… gone.  Yuri would never get to talk to him again.  He quickly brushed those thoughts away; Flynn wasn’t leaving forever.  He was already dead, right?  They’d joked about what would happen if someone killed him in this form, and Flynn had said he might be able to pick up a decapitated head and put it back on.  He wasn’t really alive, after all.  So maybe they would burn him and Yuri regretted the agony that would cause him, but he could still come back.  He had to.  

“Yuri… Flynn is….”  She bit her lip.

“He told a whole story about being an evil vengeful spirit, right?”

“Um, yes.”  

She pulled on the bandages at Yuri’s ankle and he hissed as the dried blood pulled at his skin.  

“Sorry!  I need to change these, though, and splint it as well as I can.  But Yuri, Flynn said such awful things in the trial.”

“It’s fine.”  Yuri spoke through gritted teeth as she unwrapped his leg.  “He just said all that crap to take the blame off of me.  We discussed it.”

“He did a thing with his face, though.  I didn’t see because I was in the back but everyone at the front looked really scared.  Father Duke says he clearly does have supernatural powers, and you know he doesn’t even believe in witches.”

“I know.”  Yuri turned his head to stare at a crack in the wall rather than the mess that was his leg.  When Estelle touched his knee and began coaxing the broken pieces of bone back into the right position, and clamped his teeth into his lip and strained to hold in a whimper.  “He - he’s a - he’s - shit - an A-A-Ank- _ow_!”  

Estelle yanked on his ankle to straighten the leg.  “Sorry.”  She didn’t release her grip on his ankle and pressed her other hand against his knee for leverage.  “I know it hurts.  It’s bad that they let it sit like this for a few days. I have to do this or else it will never heal and will probably have to be amputated, and you really don’t want that.”

Yuri really didn’t, so he didn’t protest as Estelle caused him just as much pain as Cumore did on a bad day.  “I knew Flynn was magic,” he grunted as he tried to keep his mind off her work.  “He t-told me back at - at May Day hrrrm.”  He squeezed his eyes tight.  “He’s the Ankou.”

Estelle paused with blood on her hands.  “But… that’s just a story.”

“You said yourself he has real magic. I’ve seen him turn invisible and I saw him use his power over death to save Ted’s life.”

Estelle’s eyes were wide, but she nodded slowly.  “I suppose… after everything that happened at the trial, I have to believe it.  Everything about him being a vengeful spirit out to punish Alexei was a lie, though, right?  He didn’t _really_ cause the plague?”

“No,” Yuri said firmly, and then quickly looked away when Estelle reached for his leg again.  He waited until he stopped feeling the stabs and hearing the crunch and squelch to continue.  “Alexei did murder him, but he only came to Zaphias because this is his hometown.  He was trying to help with the plague as much as he could.”

“He’s the one who saved you, isn’t he?”  His leg was mercifully as corrected as she could get it, so she began wrapping a felt cast around it.  “He saved you from death just like Ted.”

“Yeah.”  He decided not to complicate things by discussing Judith.  “Flynn is a really good guy.  He explained to me last night that he planned to lie just to get himself convict- ow.”

Estelle tied the felt in place with flax and then began setting stiff wooden splints around the leg and tying them tightly in place.  “He did a really good job of convincing people he’s evil.”  Two longer, thicker wooden boards were tied at his ankle, knee, and mid-calf.  “Ok.  That should do it for you leg.  Let me do your fingers now.”

Yuri held his right hand out and Estelle gently took it in her own.  Cumore had crushed his fingers the first week in jail, but luckily - depending on perspective - they’d gone through the thumbscrew again only a few days ago to freshly break all the fractures that had been healing crooked.  All his fingers were swollen and purple, the nail beds an empty mess of scabs.  His hand rested on her palm, and her other hand gently nudged his index finger.  Yuri hissed and instinctively jerked his hand back.  

“Yuri, please, I need to set these bones.”

“I know.  Sorry.”  It was an injustice on top of everything else that he had to let himself get hurt again in order to recover.  After everything he’d gone through, he just wanted to go home and sleep in his own bed, and then not get up for the next month.  Estelle coaxed the bones of his index finger back into position and Yuri couldn’t stop a whimper followed by a crunch.  Estelle glanced at him and paused, but he shook his head tightly and muttered, “Keep going.”  He’d always looked out for Estelle.  She was like the little sister he’d never had, and not being able to put on a tough face for her was almost as painful as what she was doing to his hand.  He’d used up every ounce of resistance over this past month; shrieking in front of Cumore when they’d crushed his leg had been the last straw.  Yuri was just so tired, and knowing what awaited Flynn later today exhausted him further.  

 By the time Estelle finished, all ten fingers were bound together with splints of wood between them.  

“Maybe it’s a good thing you’ll be in jail for a bit,” she said as she tugged his shirt off to access the slashes across his back from the whip.  “It will make sure you actually stay still and get the rest you need rather than jumping up and moving around like I know you want to.”

“Hmph.  I guess.”  He hissed as cold water hit his back and she began washing the injuries.  

“And just so you know, I talked with Rita and Karol and Raven.  Whenever they put you out on the pillory, one of us will be there with you, in case anyone in town is still upset with you.”

“Thanks.”  The last thing he needed was for someone to chuck a rock at his head and crack his skull after all this. 

“And Flynn-”

“I don’t want to think about that right now.”

She hesitated, and then said, “Ok.” 

A few minutes later, a pair of guards came down the hall.  They stopped in the open doorway to Yuri’s cell and said, “Is he fit to get up?  We’re supposed to take him to the pillory now.”

Estelle looked over Yuri and pouted.  “You really shouldn’t be taking him at all for at least a few weeks.  But if you _have_ to, then I guess he’ll be ok.”  

She held out her hands and helped Yuri get upright.  His weight was too much for her and he started falling forward, but one of the guards rushed forward and caught him before he crashed and broke something anew.  The two guards stood on either side of him so he could wrap his arms around their shoulders and hop on one leg.  This hurt his damaged shoulders and every hop sent tremors through his dozens of injuries, but at the very least, they were leading him toward the stairs and not toward the torture chamber like they had every other day.  Estelle hovered along beside them to make sure none of her bandages came lose or they made him hobble too fast.  

The trip out of the courthouse was slow and painful, but the fresh air when they stepped out was worth it.  It took breathing in a shock of crisp air to realize how accustomed he’d become to the stink of blood and mildew in the basement.  The bright reds and oranges on the trees shocked him, too.  The last time he’d been outside, it had still been early September, with summer weather clinging on.  Now, they were halfway into October and autumn was in full swing.  All the days had blended into each other when he was down there, and for the first time he realized just how long it had been.   

They had to go a whole block away from the courthouse to the main square in front of the church.  The guards, at least, didn’t rush him.  When they arrived at the square, Yuri’s eyes went not to the pillory off to the side that had always been there, but to the wooden stake erected in the centre, held in place by blocks of stone.  Some men were busy positioning piles of kindling around it.  

 _Flynn can’t die_ , Yuri recited to himself all across the plaza.  _Flynn can’t die… Flynn is already dead, there’s nothing they can do to him…_. Although, burning would still cause him horrible pain.  Yuri had spent a month dwelling on what being burned at the stake would feel like and he didn’t want to see Flynn go through it any more than himself.

The pillory was set up on a low stone platform facing the church.  This had the bonus effect of facing the stake, and Yuri wasn’t sure if he was pleased about that or not.  The guards helped Yuri hop up the step, swung open the top board, and motioned for him to lean over.  Yuri was too tired to put up a fuss, especially because it would only be for show.  It wasn’t like he could actually overpower them and run away when his leg was this badly broken.  The slat banged shut, they locked it in place, and then left.  Yuri sighed and wobbled on one leg as he tried to find a mildly comfortable position with his head and wrists awkwardly trapped in a line. He had to bend forward just enough that it was difficult to balance on just his good leg, especially because the good leg had taken plenty of abuse too and simply wasn’t broken.  

“Yuri, here.”  Estelle hurried up to him with a block of wood.  She positioned this beneath him so that he could rest his knee on it.  

“Thanks.”  The plaza was starting to fill up with people.  A few looked his way, but most ignored him.  “I thought I might get a more lively reception.”  He remembered the last time he’d stood here after breaking into Ragou’s stable.  Everyone in town had been glad to leave him in peace and buy him a drink afterwards.  He suspected he’d get a less friendly reception this time.

“They’re, um… waiting for Flynn.  He should be coming out soon.”

“Oh.”  Yuri’s stomach sank.  _He can’t die_.  

Sure enough, a troop of guards appeared from the road to the courthouse less than ten minutes later.  Yuri’s whole body buzzed from a dangerous mixture of dread and rage.  In the middle of the troop was Flynn, shuffling along with his ankles shackled, hands bound behind his back, and lead by a rope around his neck.  The audience shouted and jeered as he emerged.  Though only a handful had been at the trial, the story of his dramatic confession had raced through Zaphias faster than the plague they all now blamed on him.  They had also heard the stories about him being an undead revenant, though, so they backed up as he passed.  

“I wish more people knew the truth,” Estelle murmured as she hung back with Yuri.  “I was so upset with him this morning until you explained everything.  If we just told them who and what Flynn really is, maybe they would demand the execution be stopped.”

They led Flynn to the stake and had him climb the few steps to the hastily made platform that was little more than a couple layers of stone slabs piled up.  Even from across the plaza, Yuri could tell that Flynn was calm.  The fact that he wasn’t panicking or showing fear before facing the flames just convinced the audience even more than he was a demon.  

“Maybe.  More likely they’d just believe we’ve both been seduced by the devil to believe his lies and kill us next.”

Estelle hung her head.  “You’re probably right.  You’re really lucky you got let off.  If Duke hadn’t been there to push for your innocence….”

“Yeah.  I know.”  He wondered if he should thank Duke for saving his life the next time he saw him, or if the entire conversation would be too awkward.  It was odd to think about how close he’d been to being the one currently chained to the wooden post.  For weeks, he’d assumed his death would either take place there or in the torture chamber and the fact that he had a future again was still difficult to comprehend.  Shivering in the October breeze and watching Flynn do the same as Duke stepped up to deliver a sermon, he wondered how much he even wanted that future.  

Duke began to speak with a bible in his hands, but Yuri didn’t pay too much attention.  It was some nonsense about the lord protecting His flock from demonic horrors, but Duke’s heart didn’t seem to be in it.  Yuri was too busy staring at Flynn and trying to prepare himself for what was about to happen.  _Flynn can’t die_ , he said once again.  He wasn’t about to watch the love of his life die.  Flynn would survive this, reunite with Yuri, and then maybe with him at his side, Yuri could salvage his life.  

On and on Duke droned, but Yuri didn’t mind the bonfire being postponed.  Flynn, though, seemed impatient.  He kept glancing around and shifting his feet, though the chains wound around him and holding him against the stake kept him from fidgeting too much.  Yuri had had enough experience with pain to understand that sometimes the anticipation of torture was worse than the actual thing.  It also didn’t help that the timing and positioning of the sermon right in front of Flynn seemed to mock him.  At least the sermon seemed to be more generally about Jesus than Flynn in particular, which was partly why Yuri could so easily tune it out, having heard similar sermons a thousand times.

Duke finally brought his speech to a close.  “…and so we remember the depth of love given to us by Our Lord Jesus Christ, and I leave you with His words from John 15:30: ‘Greater love hath no man than this, that a man lay down his life for his friends’.”

The crowd nodded in silent agreement, while Duke looked over their heads to Yuri.  For his part, Yuri suddenly wished he’d paid more attention to the sermon because he’d just realized it had been mocking Flynn at all. 

Then Duke stepped down and the moment Yuri had been dreading arrived.  Cumore walked forward with a torch in hand.  Yuri leaned forward from an instinct to rush at him and strangle him.  Flynn was staring at Cumore while Yuri tried to decide whether he wanted to watch or not.  The crowd cheered as Cumore approached and Yuri had never felt so much loathing for his community before.  It didn’t seem like that long ago that they were carrying Flynn on their shoulders and cheering him on during the Epiphany celebration.  

Cumore tossed the torch onto the pile of wood.  Yuri’s eyes locked on the flicker of flame that grew bigger and bigger.  He couldn’t feel the heat from here, but the expression on Flynn’s face said that he could.  Then Flynn hissed and jerked as the fire reached him.  The crowd roared in approval and Yuri was glad there were too many voices to make out any individual words.   When Yuri was a kid, he’d joined the rest of the crowd in cheering on the execution of the murderer.  At the time, it had never occurred to him that the man might be innocent.  He wondered now how certain the evidence had been and if there was a chance they’d dragged in the wrong man and tortured a confession out of him.  He knew from experience just how persuasive they could be.  

Estelle pressed her hands around her nose.  “Oh, I don’t know if I can watch.”

“You don’t need to.” 

No one should see this.  The fire was all around Flynn now, and Yuri was thankful for the crowd’s voices droning out any sounds of pain Flynn must be making.  Yuri didn’t want to watch, but felt guilty every time he closed his eyes.  Flynn was doing this for him; the least he could do was look at him.  How long would Flynn have to thrash around in agony until they realized he was immortal and couldn’t die?  What would they do then?  Yuri had no idea but he was desperate to find out.  Time flowed like molasses as Flynn suffered.  Smoke filled the air but worse than that was the smell of cooking meat and the awful reminder of roasting a pig.  At one point, the crowd parted at just the right angle for Yuri to get a glimpse of Flynn’s charred and blistered legs through the tongues of fire.  It was good that he was locked in the pillory, because it was the only thing stopping him from charging forward to drag Flynn out of danger, nullifying Flynn’s sacrifice by getting himself in trouble again.  

Next to him, Estelle trembled.  She refused to leave his side even after Yuri told her multiple times to just leave and not watch this horrid display.  Yuri was reluctantly glad she stayed because her hand on his shoulder was the only shred of comfort in his life.  Physically, every injury ached and throbbed even without the discomfort of holding his arms up for half an hour and emotionally, his heart seemed to be on fire as well.  Combined with the confusing mixture of guilt and gratefulness that it wasn’t him up there writhing in the flames, it was nice to have at least one gentle touch reminding him that not the entire world was terrible.  

 _He can’t die, he can’t die, he can’t die_ , Yuri screamed at himself while across the plaza, Flynn screamed at the sky.  Fire raged, chains clinked, and Flynn’s composure fell away to desperate yells.  He couldn’t die, but he could feel pain like any human.  When would this stop?  He’d thought they were done torturing him, but Yuri was sure dragging him out here in time to watch the execution had been planned by Ragou.  Yuri would take a hundred thumbscrews if it meant they ended Flynn’s suffering.  

Flynn screamed again, and then pure white light erupted at the heart of the flames.  The whole crowd turned their heads and shaded their eyes against the light, and Yuri was forced to squint to keep his eyes on the silhouette of Flynn deep within the light and fire.  The light flashed and an eruption of ash and sparks streamed into the sky.  Yuri had to close his eyes against the light while the audience cried out in fear.  

When Yuri opened his eyes again, the fire crackled away at the pile of wood.  Flynn was gone.  


	23. Wake

Yuri awoke from a nightmare with a jolt. As he lay on the straw taking deep breaths, he tried to piece together what it had been about. Something involving pliers, he was pretty sure. Sometimes it was hard to figure out, because almost all of his nightmares were set in the torture chamber and only the specifics changed. He was starting to have trouble figuring out which memories were actual things Cumore had done to him and which were solely the product of his imagination.

Yuri yawned and stretched out on the floor of his cell. It was almost funny. Two months ago, he'd dreaded dawn and the inevitable new horrors the day would bring while passing out into exhausted sleep all night. Now, the days passed in peace while he dreaded the nightmares of torture that would come at night. He rubbed his eyes with stiff hands. His fingers had finally healed, or at least as much as they were going to. Scars criss-crossed the skin and a few of them still bent at slight angles. He could use them, but he suspected his handwriting was going to take a serious dip. If only he could say the same of his leg, which was no longer a swollen purple mess but still could barely hold any weight.

Blinking through weary eyes, he stared at the water stain on the ceiling he'd become so familiar with. One month of oozing into the floor here between torture sessions and another two of lying around with nothing to do, and he couldn't wait to be released later today. Forcing him to stand at the pillory for several hours once a week was supposed to be punishment, but he almost enjoyed it as a chance to get some fresh air and talk to his friends.

What he asked them about most often was Flynn. Had he been seen? Had anything mysteriously been taken from his house? Raven, Rita, and Karol treated these questions with sympathy.

"No, Yuri," Rita said three weeks after the burning. She sat on the edge of the pillory's platform, hands folded on her lap. A few kids passing by had thrown a handful of mud at Yuri's face, but Rita shouted and threw a rock back at them. They laughed and ran off. "No one has seen Flynn. He's…." She glanced nervously at him. "He's dead, Yuri. You know that, right?"

Yuri scowled at the charred ground where the stake had been. Whatever had happened at the end with the burst of light had left a darkened shadow on the ground below. "Yeah… right."

Rita's worried look deepened.

Yuri stopped asking after the first month. It was obvious that Flynn hadn't shown himself to anyone in town, and that was probably for the best. After his display at the burning, showing up alive and well would whip Zaphias into a frenzied terror. Flynn was probably invisible, lurking around the graveyard with Judith.

Except that Judith came to visit him, too, and Flynn was the first thing he asked about. He'd been so excited when he saw her because she would surely explain what had happened, but after his question, his hopes fell along with her expression.

"I haven't seen him since that day." She shook her head with a frown. "I've spoken with other Ankous, too, and no one knows what's going on. It's possible his physical body was destroyed by the fire, but if that were the case, he should still be around in spectral form like I am. If he is… he hasn't shown himself."

It would be ok, though. Flynn was probably just lying low until Yuri got out of jail and could talk to him. Flynn couldn't die. He was already dead, so what could fire do to him? It would be fine. It had to be fine.

Between these hours at the pillory, he sat in his cell and let the days pass by. Sometimes the minutes trickled by with him hyper-aware of every ache, while other times he stared at the cracks in the wall to distance himself from the pain until the room seemed to stretch, the pain faded to a memory, and then he snapped back to attention moments later only to realize he'd actually lost hours. Though it was eerie to feel like his grip on reality was weakening, he enjoyed how quickly the days passed when he spent them in a trance. At least, it was better than the days when his mind, apparently unaccustomed to spending a whole day in peace without experiencing some new trauma, decided to replay Cumore's greatest hits to fill the empty schedule. It was bad enough having nightmares all the time without the memories intruding during the day as well.

There was some good news. The second time they took Yuri to the pillory, Raven stood by to defend him just in case. Nobody came near him, though. A few passersby gave him hateful looks before hurrying onward.

"They seem pretty skittish," Yuri observed while trying to get his knee comfortable on the block of wood.

Raven quickly looked down at him. "You didn't hear what happened to Ragou?"

"Ragou? No. I haven't seen him since…." A vision of fire flared across his vision, so bright it blocked out everything else. The horrible smell of Flynn cooking and the spine-chilling sound of Flynn's familiar voice broken by screams washed over him. It took almost a minute to get the memories to leave him alone, and even then, the phantom scent lingered on his nose. When he blinked and snapped to his senses, Raven was staring at him nervously. "What happened with Ragou?" Yuri said quickly to move on from the shaky feelings.

"Ah, right. The day after…." Raven hesitated to bring up the day of Flynn's execution again after seeing how Yuri reacted the first time. He moved on quickly. "Ragou went to Flynn's house to take possession of it. Said that a convicted witch's estate gets turned over to the local government. He got mad, though, because all the valuables - books, mostly - had already been packed in Flynn's coach. Flynn's valet, Leblanc, said all Flynn's personal possessions were off limit, and that they could take the deed to the house but he recommended leaving the coach, horses, and everything inside it. Ragou didn't like that, of course, and insisted on taking the coach. He opened the door and saw all Flynn's stuff piled in there, no space left to sit even."

Yuri thought he saw where this story was going but barely dared hope. He raised his eyes to watch Raven expectantly.

"So Leblanc told him not ta touch the stuff in the coach, and Ragou threatened ta have him arrested for interferin', and then Ragou climbed into the coach himself ta get the first box and… well no one really knows what happened but he dropped dead."

A weight lifted from Yuri's sore shoulders. Ragou, dead. The idiot had tried to board Flynn's death coach and left his body behind. He hoped Judith kicked his ass before taking him to the menhir. That son of a bitch deserved everything he got after what he'd done to both Yuri and Flynn. "What happened to Flynn's stuff?"

"It's all still sittin' there, far as I know. There was a big stink about witchcraft and being cursed from beyond the grave and the whole estate got cordoned off. Everyone's too scared ta go in. His two servants are still there, though I dunno how long they're gonna stick around. They're definitely not very popular."

"What about Cumore?"

Raven made a face. "He's still around, but I think he's planning on leaving soon. There have been some requests for him to stick around in case another witch comes to town, but he made a big show about needin' to move on to help other towns."

"Wring money out of them by fabricating a witch's mark, you mean," Yuri said with a scowl.

"Yeah… pretty much."

The weight that had lifted with news of Ragou's death was quickly filled with more weight centred around Cumore. The idea that he was getting off scot-free after everything he'd done infuriated him. Cumore would move on to another town and make some new innocent person suffer just like he had. Or even, a worried voice in the back of his mind piped in, return to Zaphias to finish what he'd started and drag Yuri into that torture chamber again. The very idea sent chills through him, no matter how unlikely it was.

But Ragou was dead. That was good news he could hold onto, even during the long nights beneath the courthouse when he desperately tried to sleep so he could forget his shattered leg, all the while dreading whatever nightmares his mind would cook up that night.

The approach of footsteps startled Yuri out of his memories. He looked up when a guard came up to his cell with the keys and a piece of paper. Yuri's heart leapt; finally, he was getting out of here.

"Morning," the guard said. "Your sentence is up today, so you're free to go as soon as you pay your bill." He passed the paper through the bars.

Yuri crawled to get it, dragging his bum leg. It wasn't worth struggling to get to his feet. When he read the paper, his heart sank. "It says I owe the court twenty livres."

"That's right. For the three months of room and board we've provided you."

Yuri looked around at his cell that could be called barren if not for the straw and rat droppings, and then considered the watery broth, day-old bread, and slimy gruel they served him in place of food. "I have some complaints about my bill."

The guard shrugged. "Doesn't matter if you like it or not, it's yours. Pay up or stay here."

Yuri stared at the numbers on the page, the clean black strokes of ink so immutable and decisive. Why had he let himself think his suffering would be over today? When had his life ever worked out like that? Half the people he loved had died of the plague, he'd nearly died of it, and then he'd been dragged in here to get torn apart. This past year had proven to be a never-ending parade of bullshit and showed no signs of slowing down.

"Are you gonna pay?"

Yuri tossed the paper aside. "I don't have that much money." He could get it if he sold furniture from Hanks' house, and realized that was what he would need to do. That would get him a handful of livres at least, but at the cost of losing part of the property Hanks specifically wanted him to have. The house didn't have much, so the old bed, scuffed and ancient table, and wooden chest of belongings were as much a part of what made it home as the walls and floors. It was the house he'd grown up in, the house where all his memories were, and the idea of losing it felt like a betrayal of Hanks' final wishes. He might as well sell the whole damn house; it wasn't like he could afford to furnish it again and what was the point of living in an empty house? He'd had enough of sleeping on the bare floor. "Can I get an accountant or whatever in here to arrange the sale of my house?"

"Certainly. Keep in mind, your fee will continue to increase every day until you pay it."

"Yeah. Got it."

The guard left and Yuri slumped over into his pile of straw. It was odd how quickly he'd made the decision to sell Hanks' house. It should mean a lot to him, and it did, but not as much as he knew it should. The only thing that mattered was whether Flynn would return once Yuri was free. Beyond that, it was too difficult to try to invest emotion into anything.

* * *

It took five days for Yuri's house to sell and for him to finally have the money to pay his bill. He stepped out on the steps of the courthouse, leaning on the cane one of the guards had given him. Snow drifted slowly to the ground and the air chilled his lungs as he breathed in. Nearly all of autumn had passed him by with nothing to show for it but a heap of new scars and paranoias. It was one week until Christmas and Yuri had never felt less festive. The layer of pure, beautiful white covering Zaphias seemed incongruent with how rotten and treacherous Yuri knew the town to be.

His cane clicked on the step below and he heaved himself down. After three months of being escorted, dragged, or shoved around, walking out on his own felt alien. The court had controlled his every movement since Cumore barged into his house last September, and now they were just throwing him out into the cold to make his way home. He shivered and longed for a jacket as he awkwardly pulled his gimpy leg down the last step.

It was then that he realized he hadn't planned where to go. Yuri chided himself for being so stupid. His house was gone, Flynn's stood empty with Leblanc and Sodia leaving town a month ago, so that left Estelle or Rita. He hated imposing on either of them, but the cold breeze bit his malnourished frame and he couldn't bear the idea of sleeping outside. The jail cell had been cold enough. Reluctantly, he began the walk to Estelle's hose. It took twice as long as it should have, each step a slow hobble as he got used to walking with a cane. His leg worked at perhaps fifty-percent strength on a good day, which was better than he had hoped for. It was covered in scars from the bite of the spikes and wasn't quite straight, but he'd feared having it amputated so he really couldn't complain. And really, he shouldn't complain about anything after what Flynn had done for him. He ought to be dead. Flynn wasn't, though. Flynn had just been waiting for Yuri to be released to make his reappearance, and then when Flynn was with him again, they'd leave Zaphias and start a new life on the other side of Brittany. Yuri anticipated Flynn emerging at any moment on his long slog to Estelle's house.

Flynn didn't appear. He didn't step out of his house when Yuri passed it and summon Yuri in for an afternoon of reading in the sitting room with a crackling fire and he didn't rush out to help Yuri when his cane slipped on a patch of ice and he fell to his knees, sending shooting pain through his leg. If he had been waiting for a perfect time to make his reappearance, this was the time, yet he remained as absent as ever. When Yuri reached Estelle's house, shivering and sore, a fear that he'd stubbornly fought down for the last two months was starting to poke its head up again: what if Flynn wasn't coming back?

That fear chilled him worse than the wind, so he was thankful when the door opened and heat from Estelle's fireplace washed over him. "Yuri!" She flung herself at him and wrapped her arms around his neck.

Yuri jerked away with a rush of adrenaline. He almost fell again, but she was still holding him and managed to keep him from falling over. While Estelle babbled apologies, Yuri cursed himself for being startled over something as benign as an Estelle hug. Even as she led him inside, though, his heart rate was still trying to slow down and get over the shock of panic that had flooded him. What had he even been afraid? It wasn't like she'd been coming at him with knives and pliers. That, at least, would have been an understandable panic.

Inside, he took a seat at Estelle's table. It was so warm in here, much warmer than the jail had been even in September. With a smooth wooden chair beneath him and a fire crackling to the side, he hadn't been this comfortable in months. He leaned his cane against the table and stretched his leg out. Movement at the fire signalled Repede getting up to hurry to Yuri's side. He rested his head on Yuri's lap and whined, reprimanding him for being gone for so long. Yuri moved his hand up to rub Repede's head. Estelle had mentioned Repede had moved in with her after Flynn… disappeared (not died). No one in town had ever paid enough attention to individual mutts to recognize him as the dog that was allegedly Yuri's familiar.

"Sorry to barge in on you," he said while rubbing Repede's ears.

"It's fine!" she chirped. "Are you hungry? I can make lunch."

Yuri's stomach growled at the promise of food not provided by the jail. It was possible he might not still be hungry when this meal was over. This was an odd prospect, because he'd been at least a little hungry for the entire time he spent in jail. "If you don't mind."

Estelle rushed to the kitchen and started boiling water. "I thought you'd be here soon, but I wasn't sure if it would be today or tomorrow."

"Hm. Is it… uh, ok if I crash here for a bit? I kind of… don't have a house anymore."

"Of course it's fine." She looked over her shoulder at him and smiled. "I expected you would need to stay here. It doesn't bother me at all. You really should have just asked me or Rita or Raven for the money for the bill. Between the three of us we could have easily paid it."

Yuri shrugged a single shoulder. "I didn't want charity." Living at Estelle's house until he figured something else out was bad enough. Asking her for money would be the worst. He had a small handful of gold from the sale of his house, so that would get him a few months of rent, at least. Then he needed to find a job, which might be difficult because everyone in Zaphias hated him and his leg was too busted to be any good at manual labour. He could read and write, so he toyed with the idea of looking for clerical work of some kind until he picked up the knife Estelle set before him. The blade wobbled from his trembling fingers. Yuri glared at his hand and told his fingers to relax, but they didn't stop shaking until he set the knife down.

"Why is my hand shaking?" Yuri demanded, picking the knife up again and watching it tremble.

Estelle whirled around to see what was happening and her mouth formed a little 'O' before explaining. "I… was afraid of something like that. It's all the nerves and tendons in your fingers. They were really badly crushed and didn't heal as well as the bones."

Yuri stared at his reflection in the trembling knife blade. He hadn't seen his reflection since this started and the change was jarring. Not only was his hair still barely a few inches long, but his skin was pale, bags sat under his eyes, messy stubble covered his chin, and a jagged scar stretched him his hairline to his eyebrow, splitting it in two. Seeing it all shake from his damaged hand made everything worse so he dropped the knife to stop staring. "Are they still healing?"

"Um, maybe. But… probably not."

Wonderful. A crippled leg and crippled hands. Finding work would be next to impossible. All of this was so overwhelming that if Flynn offered to let him move in with him now, he would agree in an instant. He wanted to live in Flynn's comfortable house and not have to worry about food or shelter, and above all he wanted to fall asleep in a big soft bed with Flynn pulled tight against him. They could live together and let the world think they were just bachelor friends living together for convenience. Then whenever Yuri woke up from a nightmare, Flynn would be right there to calm him down. God, where was Flynn? He should have reappeared by now.

Estelle brought a bowl of steamed mussels to Yuri. "Here. I hope this is better than what they've been serving you in there."

Yuri forced a smile. "It smells great." His cheeks hurt from the expression he hadn't used in a while. Hands still shaking, he got to work on the mussels.

Estelle sat across from him, watching nervously. At his feet, Repede lay with his back pressed tightly against Yuri's shins.

"Flynn hates these, you know," Yuri said to fill the silence.

"I know… he told me one time."

"He likes lobster, though. And monkfish. I used to cook those for him all the time. I wonder if he'll mind that I can't dice things neatly anymore."

Estelle breathed in sharply and Yuri glanced up at her. Estelle said, "Yuri… I, um, I don't think Flynn is… I mean, he's…."

"He's not dead."

His stubborn words almost seemed to hurt her. "I know he wasn't human, but Yuri, no one has seen any trace of him for three months. I saw what happened that day. The fire consumed him and his body exploded into ash. I think… I think we need to accept that he's gone."

Yuri shook his head. "He isn't. He can't be." What would he even do if Flynn were gone? He's already lost Hanks, Ted, Mari, her baby, Karol's parents, his house, his hands, and his leg. He couldn't lose Flynn, too. Surely the world couldn't be that cruel. "He's coming back." He hated the way Estelle looked at him.

* * *

The next day was a Sunday, so Yuri accompanied Estelle to mass. Sitting in a church and hearing about the glories of God was the last thing he wanted to do, but Estelle had convinced him that since not going had been a large part of what got him convicted in the first place, showing up and sitting through the sermon was the least he could do to keep his reputation from getting any worse. Yuri reluctantly agreed, and so joined her, Karol, and Rita in the back row of pews.

Yuri barely listened to Duke. He stared at the stained glass window depicting the  _danse macabre_  and the words written beneath:  _I Kill You All_. The king and peasant alike joined Death in his dance to the grave, but Yuri knew Flynn would never behave like that. He didn't want to kill people; he just helped their souls move on once it happened. That was when it occurred to Yuri that although Flynn was the Ankou, he wasn't the same as the Death depicted in the window. The window imagined the Ankou as the personification of Death itself, reaping souls out of weakened bodies. Flynn's job was to arrive after the death had taken place naturally and escort the soul onward. The Death depicted in the window wasn't Flynn, which opened the possibility that Flynn was included in the 'all'. Death was supposedly the great universal, the unifying trait of all life on Earth. From tiny worms in the ocean to the pope himself, everything died. Was Flynn part of that everything? What if… what if the Ankou could die?

A vision of fire crossed his mind yet again. Flynn burning, his physical form disintegrating, the horrid smell like roasting pork…  _I kill you all_.

Something touched him and he startled with a strangled gasp that made people in the rows in front of him turn to look disapprovingly. A few people tutted at his inconsiderate distraction, but Yuri ignored them. He realized he was breathing very hard and that what had startled him was Estelle resting her hand on his knee.

"Are you ok?" she whispered.

"Fine," he breathed back. He tried to listen to Duke again, but the sermon had progressed so far while he'd zoned out that he had no idea what was happening anymore. Hearing religious drivel out of context was even worse, because his mind happily filled in the context with its strongest memories of religion, which mostly involved horrible pain while people shouted at him about defying God. It was good to have his friends on either side, their warm bodies providing comfort.

He couldn't be more grateful when mass was over. Everyone rose to their feet, but Yuri remained sitting. His friends looked at him expectantly, but he waved his hand. "You go on. I don't want to deal with the crowd on the way out."

"We can wait for you," Karol said.

Yuri shook his head. "I want a minute alone, if you don't mind."

They glanced at each other, and then Estelle nodded and said, "We'll wait for you outside."

Yuri took advantage of the empty pew to stretch his sore leg. He closed his eyes and leaned forward, resting his head against the back of the pew in front of him. Everything just… sucked. He'd been out of jail for almost twenty-four hours and Flynn still hadn't made his reappearance. What was he waiting for? The certainty that Flynn would come back had been the only thing keeping him going in jail. If Flynn didn't come back… if Flynn really was dead… he'd sacrificed his life for the wreck that was Yuri's. What a shitty bargain. Yuri barely even wanted this life anymore, but Flynn had paid the ultimate price for it. It was like when Mrs. Hanks had knitted him an ugly, itchy sweater that he hated, but he had to keep wearing it because she'd worked so hard on it.

The pew creaked as someone sat beside him and Yuri jolted, yanking his leg away with a gasp of pain. It was only Duke and he cursed himself for banging his foot against the pew and making himself hurt more than necessary. Adding this pain to his already sour mood, he sneered, "What do you want?"

"I wanted to talk to you."

Yuri massaged his leg. "What about? Here to pray for me and ask me to repent?"

"No. How are you doing?"

"Just fine and dandy, thanks."

"I heard that you sold your house. I also witnessed your mobility trouble. I wanted to reassure you that even if you have not been a diligent attendee of mass, the church is always here to provide aid to those in need."

Yuri would have clenched his fists if that wouldn't make them sore. "No offence, but I'm not interested in charity from the church that killed Flynn."

Duke, still facing ahead rather than Yuri, said, "It was not the church that ordered Flynn Scifo's execution. That was the greed of man."

"Maybe so, but the greed of man used the church as a tool to justify it. You stand up there talking about love thy neighbour this and praise Jesus that, but then all these dutiful little Catholics go out and chain people up in basements and quote bible verses while ripping their fingernails off."

"You speak the truth." Duke sighed heavily. "It is the lament of all men of God that their flock fails to follow the example of Christ. But then, we are only human as well, and are frequently just as guilty."

"Hmph." Yuri considered leaving, but at this point he'd have to climb over Duke to get out and wasn't sure if his leg could handle that.

"There was only one death in Zaphias. It was nearly two. I take that has my comfort that I did what I could. I could not stop Cumore leaving town, though. I could not stop him from holding another trial in another parish."

Yuri looked to him sharply. "Another one?"

"You did not hear?"

"No one told me." It was no wonder none of his friends had mentioned it to him. They probably thought the news would bother him too much. Well, it did, but that was no reason not to tell him.

"Three weeks ago, in Sant-Brieg, a young woman was burned for witchcraft. I do not know the details of her case, but I imagine the charges were as trumped up as your own."

Yuri let out a deep, seething breath. He had no idea who the woman had been, but he felt an intimate fellowship with her. How long had she been tortured before she snapped? She hadn't even had a ghostly companion to lurk at her side, or the hope of acquittal to hold onto. How well had she been able to stand under her own weight when she stood on the platform to burn? How much money had Cumore pocketed from her senseless murder? "Thanks for telling me."

Duke left him alone after that, finally taking the hint that Yuri wasn't interested in chatting. Yuri gave the stained glass depiction of Death one last look before hobbling out of the church. His friends surrounded him once he left, but he barely paid attention to their words. His mind was fixed on Sant-Brieg and a dead woman he'd never met, and a terrible rage of injustice that he almost enjoyed because everything else felt so numb. Cumore was going to keep travelling through France, murdering and ruining lives as he went. More people would suffer through exactly what he had. Flynn had sacrificed himself for Yuri's life, but in the long run, Cumore was going to keep killing innocent people. Yuri barely even felt alive these days anyway. Flynn had died for nothing unless Yuri did something worthwhile with the life he'd been given.

By the time he returned to Estelle's house, he knew what he had to do.


	24. Moving Forward

“I’m leaving Zaphias,” Yuri told the table over breakfast on Monday morning.    

Karol dropped his spoon.  “What?  You can’t leave.  Where will you go?”

“Saint-Malo.  I figure it’s big enough that I can just blend in and not be a pariah.”

“But what will you do?” Estelle asked, worry filling her face.  

“I’ll find work.  I’m not helpless.  Maybe I could work in a tavern again - not like they care if my slices and dices are uneven.”  It would be tough to get employed when he walked with a cane and his fingers didn’t work like they used to, but he’d find a way.  With practice and patience, he might be able to steady his hand enough to get a desk job to spare his leg.  

“Then I’m going, too,” Karol announced.  “I’ll get a job, too, and we can support each other.”

“Don’t leave for my sake,” Yuri said with a shake of his head.  “I don’t want you to uproot your life over me.”

Karol rolled his eyes.  “My life was already uprooted.  Ever since my mom and dad died, you and Estelle and Rita are the only family I have.  So, if you’re going to Saint-Malo, I’m going with you.  We’ll stick together.”

It took Yuri a moment to accept that Karol wanted to stay with Yuri for his own sake and not out of pity for Yuri’s condition.  He nodded.  “Alright.  We’ll go together.”

“What about you, Estelle?”  Karol looked to her.

Estelle bit her lip and folded her hands.  “I… don’t know.  I don’t know if I feel ok leaving.”

Yuri raised his eyebrows and felt the scar crinkle.  “You want to stay in Zaphias?  Keep being a nurse for these people after what they did to Flynn?”  Yuri shook his head in disgust.  “They don’t deserve you.”

“Maybe not… but Mrs. Le Moal is pregnant again and her baby never hurt anyone.  I really don’t know if I can forgive this town for what they did to you and Flynn, but there are still babies and young children who had nothing to do with it and they need me.  Plus there’s Rita, who owns her apothecary and can’t just move.”

“Oh….”  Karol slumped his shoulders.  “Yeah, that makes sense.  Saint-Malo isn’t that far away, at least.  Rita goes there a lot.”

“That’s right,” Estelle said.  “So if you go there, we’ll be sure to visit often.”

Yuri said, “It’s good that you’re staying.  If Flynn comes back looking for me, you can tell him where I am.”  

Estelle and Karol both gave him one of those looks he was starting to get used to, but they didn’t try to convince him that Flynn was dead again.  Yuri was glad, because at this point, he feared they’d succeed.  

“When do you plan to leave?” Karol asked. “Today?”

He shook his head.  “I have something else I need to take care of first.  It’s going to take me out of town for a bit.”

“Oh?”  Estelle cocked her head.  “What is it?”

“Personal stuff.”

“Like what?”

Yuri felt his stress begin to rise.  He didn’t want to make Estelle feel bad, but he had to say softly, “Could you not interrogate me?”  This was followed by another flash of hatred that Cumore had left him such a jumpy wreck.  

“O-oh.”  Estelle covered her mouth.  “I’m really sorry.”

“It’s fine.”  Yuri fiddled with the galette on his plate.  “I should be back by New Year’s.”

“You’ll be gone over Christmas?” Karol asked.

“Yeah.”  And just as well.  He had no mood for celebrating with the rest of Zaphias.

“I could go with you,” Estelle offered.  “Just in case.”

“No.  I want to take care of this myself.”  He could handle a trip by himself.  He didn’t need Estelle tagging along to take care of him if he tripped.  

Estelle saw that in his expression and nodded in understanding.  “Ok.  You go take care of whatever you need to do, and I’ll help Karol get ready for moving to Saint-Malo after you get back.”  

“Thanks, Estelle.”  He met her eyes and really tried to look grateful even though it was so difficult to feel positive emotions lately. If it hadn’t been for her, he would have lost his leg entirely and probably died in there.  Her support had gotten him through this and he hoped she knew how much he appreciated her.  He would miss her in Saint-Malo, but there really was no way he could bear to stay in this town.  

* * *

 

That morning, Yuri rented a horse.  He estimated he’d need it for about two weeks.  The owner of the stable looked him up and down after explaining this.  

“For you?  One louis.”

Yuri held his tongue because yelling at the man selling him something wouldn’t lower the price.  That was too much, but then, there was a reason he was moving to Saint-Malo and it was that people there didn’t hate his guts and blame him for helping to spread the plague.  He pulled out his purse and handed over the coin. Yuri wasn’t used to carrying around this much money, and it felt like a small fortune in his hand, so he didn’t mind giving some of it up.  This was important and it wasn’t like he was fit to walk.  

Climbing up on the horse was difficult enough.  He’d never ridden a horse in his life, and his hands didn’t want to cooperate with pulling himself up.  He had to leaned against the stall and support himself with one arm to get his non-injured leg into a stirrup and then drag himself over the old mare’s back.  The stable owner watched his struggles with amusement and didn’t over any help.  Yuri resisted the urge to flip him off on the way out, but then, he wasn’t sure his fingers were dextrous enough for that.  

Yuri rode out of town. He carried everything he would need in the saddlebags and tied his cane to one of the straps.  By the time he passed through the gate, he was sore.  The horse wasn’t that energetic, but staying on the back took more balance than he was used to using and required muscles he’d never thought about before.  Every step jostled his countless aches and pains.  Why couldn’t horses walk more smoothly?  

They plodded along the road, heading west along the coast rather than taking the inland road up into the ravine.  Alexei’s chateau came into view and Yuri smiled at the thought of Alexei scrambling to maintain his reputation.  Raven had said that the rumour he’d murdered his brother and another soldier had already spread around his social circle of nobility and sides were being taken over who believed the stories.  Yuri didn’t have much hope of any official ramifications coming from this, but if Alexei lost allies and trade partners over his murder of Flynn, that was enough.  

Yuri kept going until he spotted the tall stone up the hill.  He nudged the horse off the road and it carried him up the gentle slope to the menhir.  When they reached it, Yuri had to figure out how to get off the horse.  It stood still and chewed on a bush as he heaved his bad leg over its back.  That leg kept going toward the ground, hit the snow, and crumpled under his wait with a throb of pain.  Yuri fell on his ass, while the horse barely glanced at his dismay.  “Thanks, I was worried for you, too.” At least the snow he’d fallen into numbed the pain. 

He leaned against a rock to help stand up, and then reached into the saddle bag and dug around for his old wax tablet.  Yuri slumped onto the rock beside the menhir and ran his chilled fingers over the worn wood.   _‘Bugel’ skrivjout c’hwi fall._   That had been the first thing Flynn ever wrote to him.   _You spelled ‘child’ wrong._   He wondered what would have happened if he hadn’t asked Estelle to scribe a reply for him.  What if he’d remained just a delivery boy who snuck in through the kitchen and dropped off food without being seen?  Flynn had been such a huge part of his life this past year; it was weird to imagine how easily that could have been missed.  And it had all started with just a bit of wax and some unwanted mussels.  

He was a different man now than he was the day Flynn rolled into town one year ago.  He could read and write now, which opened up the world of literature to him.  He knew things about life, death, and the universe that no living man ought to be told.  He knew what caused the plague and how to protect himself from it.  He knew what it felt like to be in love.  Yuri squeezed his eyes against the biting cold. Flynn had burned to ash over two months and nobody had seen him since.  By all logic, Flynn was dead.  He knew in his heart that Flynn was most likely dead, and not dead in the way that he’d been dead since Yuri met him.  All along, Flynn had merely been non-alive, but now he was truly dead.  Yuri had never felt so cold.  

He flipped the tablet open and wrapped his fingers around the stylus.  He could almost hear Flynn’s voice chiding him for holding it in his fist, and wished he could explain that his fingers were too damaged to hold it any more precisely.  

_Flynn -_

_I wrote here once that I wanted to kiss you.  And know what?  I still do.  But I can’t.  I can’t kiss you again, or wake up next to you again, or hold your hand, or make you laugh. And it feels like, why even go on?  I almost hate you for coming to Zaphias last January because I spent twenty-one years just fine without you and now I don’t know how to keep going._

_I love you.  God that took me forever to write.  I don’t think I ever told you but I hope that you could tell.  I love you.  It gets easier every time I write it.  I love you so much that I hate you for leaving me like this.  I even thought about killing myself because maybe you would show up then to collect my soul.  I’m not gonna, though.  You gave your life so that I could have mine, and I swear I won’t throw that away.  One day, I’ll follow you through the menhir and maybe in the afterlife, we can finally be together in peace.  It would be nice, I think, to be able to kiss you without the weight of the world trying to bring us down._

_So that’s all I wanted to say.  I’m running out of space.  I know you’re dead, but I am still alive and I’m not giving up.  Goodbye, Flynn.  Thank you._

_Love Yuri_

Yuri looked up, snapped the tablet closed, and let it drop to the ground in front of the menhir.  He took in a sharp, icy breath and felt the sting of cold air on his wet cheeks.  Yuri almost laughed as he rubbed tears away with his knuckles.  So, he wasn’t broken after all.  

Yuri stayed on the hillside, looking out over Zaphias and all the empty, white space where Flynn would never again walk, and continued to prove he wasn’t broken for a long time.  

* * *

 Yuri arrived in Montroulez on Christmas Eve.  Sometimes he stopped at a village large enough to have a tavern with a room he could rent, and other nights he was lucky to ask a local landowner if he could sleep in their barn.  With his cane, crippled leg, gnarled hands, and scarred face, it wasn’t too hard to find pitying people who didn’t even charge him for the barn.  The horse was old and barely moved faster than he could walk, assuming he had two good legs.  Considering he hadn’t know how to ride before, this was fine with him.  By the time they reached Montroulez, he thought he’d gotten the hang of it, even if his legs felt permanently stretched in an awkward bow.  

Yuri found the cheapest inn Montroulez had to offer.  It was on the outskirts of town, with a stable in the back to leave the horse.  It wasn’t that late in the day when he arrived, but night fell early this late in the year.  Yuri ordered a pint of warm cider and warmed himself by the fire after the long ride.  He sat alone, watching the rest of the common room laugh and shout. Tomorrow was Christmas Day, and everyone else seemed to be in a celebratory mood.  He almost wished he could join them.  

“Evening, stranger.”  A rough-looking man leaned against the wall next to Yuri.  “I haven’t seen you around before.  What brings you to Montroulez?”

Yuri edged sideways, uncomfortable with the way the man seemed to loom over him.  He’d sat with his back to the wall, facing the door, for a reason.  “Just passing through.”

“You have no friends or family to spend Christmas with?”

“None in the area.”  Back home, Estelle, Karol, and Rita would be preparing for a Christmas Eve feast.  Yuri had always spent the evening with them, sometimes at Estelle’s house and sometimes at Hanks’.  For a moment, he regretted taking off when he had and not staying for that familiar happy evening.  Then again, he felt so out of sorts lately that participating in an event he’d always loved without being able to feel as happy and relaxed as it usually did might just make him feel worse.  

While Yuri thought about this, the man analyzed Yuri’s face and the cane leaning against the wall.  “You a soldier?”

“No.  Do I look like one?”

“You look like you might’a used to be one.”

“Oh.”  Yuri trailed his fingers over the jagged line cutting through his eyebrow.  “No, this is from a… fight.”

“A fight?  Hell.  No offence, but I hope you lost or else I’d hate to see the other guy.”

“Heh.  Yeah, I lost.”  

“Did you get any payback?”

Yuri frowned and took a long sip of his cider.  “Not yet.”

“Well, good luck with that.  Listen, the wife and I could make room tonight if you don’t have anywhere else to go.”

“Huh?”

“I hate to see a man alone on Christmas Eve.  Come back with me, you can join our dinner.”

Yuri stared at him for a few seconds, trying to figure out the catch.  When he realized there wasn’t one and the man was legitimately just trying to be kind, he wasn’t sure what to say.  When Yuri was young, there had been a man on his street that beat his dog.  It had always bothered him, especially after the dog ran away and Yuri tried to pet it when he met it in an alley.  The way the poor thing and cowered and whined when he reached for it had broken his heart.  It hurt now to realize that he had become that dog, so conditioned to expect pain that he flinched away whenever anyone reached out to him.  

“Thanks for the offer, but I have plans tonight.”

“Oh, yeah?  Well, the offer stands if you change your mind.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.  Hey, can you tell me where the most expensive drinking establishment Montroulez has to offer is?”

The man laughed.  “Sure, but I don’t think they’d serve our sort!”

Yuri glanced at his mud-stained clothes he’d worn for almost a week straight of travel.  Even without the banged-up appearance he would stand out.  “It’s fine.  I’m not planning to actually go in.”

The man gave him a confused  look.  “You’re certainly an odd one, but sure.”

After getting the information, Yuri finished his drink and set out again.  The streets were deserted, with everyone abandoning the cold and dark outside for the warmth of community in their Christmas celebrations.  In the quiet of the empty streets, his cane clacked on the cobblestone road.  He found the tavern the man had directed to him near the centre of town, with light spilling out of the windows to make the snow drifts glow yellow.  Yuri passed the window and glanced inside, careful not to be conspicuous.  There he was: Cumore, drinking wine and smiling as he chatted with a young woman.  Cumore, at least, seemed to be enjoying his Christmas Eve.  

Yuri ventured into the shadows of the alley beside the inn and sat on an old barrel cushioned by snow.  It chilled his ass, but it was better than standing on his sore leg.  He pulled out the carving knife he’d taken from Estelle’s house and waited. 

This wasn’t about revenge.  Sure, he’d fantasized about doing unspeakable things to Cumore during that month of hell, but he didn’t consider thoughts that appeared mid-torture to be a true representation of his opinions.  He would have agreed that being dunked in freezing water sounded lovely while Cumore wielded that heated poker.  Part of him, the part that he feared would never be able to truly leave that basement, still wanted to see Cumore in as much agony as possible, but Yuri didn’t let that part make decisions.  Otherwise, he would never get out of bed in the morning.  So, this wasn’t about revenge.  Punching Cumore’s face in wouldn’t take the scars off of Yuri’s and killing him wouldn’t bring Flynn back.  This was about the young woman in Sant-Brieg who had been executed - no, murdered - a few weeks ago.  It was about all the dozens of people Cumore had killed before riding into Zaphias.  It was about the dozens of outcasts, odd ducks, or just plain unlucky people going about their lives in villages along the coast who had no idea Cumore was coming for them.  Cumore was in the business of ruining lives for a quick buck and Yuri could not allow anyone else to go through what he had.  Cumore had to be stopped before another unlucky bastard was forced to learn the natural limits of the human body.  

Yuri toyed with the knife while he waited for Cumore to leave.  The only things he’d ever killed were lobsters or fish.  It was one thing to jam a knife through a lobster’s back and make all those wiggling alien legs stop, but could he do it to another human?  Flynn had never spoken fondly about his time in the military and he’d rarely spoken about the reality of killing people.  To knowingly and willingly take a person’s life from them, to put them through that pain and fear, seemed daunting.  The knife in his hands had never looked so sharp when he used it to slice a goose.  He wasn’t sure if his past self could go through with it at all, but then, he wasn’t his past self anymore.  Whatever surge of emotions the act would give him, he knew he could deal with it because he was too numbed inside to feel them as acutely as he might have in the past.  All that pain, all that fear, and all that grief had twisted his soul.  He could kill.  At least, he could kill Cumore.

Cumore didn’t leave the tavern until close to midnight.  The tavern had been draining for the last few hours and he was one of the last to leave.  Yuri slid off the barrel and gripped his knife as tightly as his damaged hand could.  Cumore stumbled a little over a cobblestone, and Yuri took it as a good sign that he was a bit tipsy.  Cumore passed the entrance of the alley and Yuri made his move. 

He wasn’t strong enough to attempt anything but a surprise attack.  The knife sank into Cumore’s ribs, making him gasp and startle.  Yuri wrenched it out, heart pounding.  His hands shook, but this time it was from the rush of adrenaline.  He didn’t even care if town watchmen were called.  What was the worst they could do, hang him?  He wasn’t going to willingly give up his life for Flynn’s sake, but it wasn’t like he was attached to it.  

Cumore lunged at him.  Yuri wasn’t agile enough to dodge, so they both went down with Cumore pinning Yuri to the frozen ground in the alley.  “ _You_!”  Cumore’s blood splattered on Yuri’s shirt.

Cumore’s right side was weak from the injury, so Yuri wrenched his arm out of his grip.  Knife still in hand, he plunged it upward and then sliced, making Cumore shriek in a way that was entirely to satisfying for Yuri’s comfort.  Blood gushed from the long gash in Cumore’s stomach and he rolled to the side, clutching the wound.  Yuri pulled himself to his knees, trying not to think about the warm blood already cooling on his shirt.  

“I… I knew you… were a criminal,” Cumore wheezed, face pale.  His blood mingled with the mud and snow beneath him.  The gash in his stomach was wide; it wouldn’t take much longer for him to bleed out.

Yuri shook his head.  “You’re wrong.  It’s almost funny. I was accused of being a killer, so you dragged me into the basement and tortured me for a month.  I wasn’t a killer when you took me down there… but I am now.”  He sliced Cumore’s throat to end it quickly.  Really, it wasn’t that much different than gutting a pig.  

Yuri wiped his knife off on Cumore’s cloak.  For a long minute, he knelt in the alley and stared at Cumore’s body.  What did he feel?  Happy?  Relieved?  Fulfilled?  Satisfied, he decided.  At least, that’s what the proper self felt.  The broken part felt too many sadistic emotions for him to be comfortable analyzing them.  He was satisfied that no one else would be killed because of this monster. 

Yuri picked himself up before the next patron left the tavern.  In the distance, someone opened a church door and he heard the chorus of a Christmas carol drift through the streets. Yuri gripped his cane and began the long walk back to his inn.  The blood had almost finished drying on his shirt when the bells began to chime Christmas morning.  

* * *

Yuri made it back to his inn that night without encountering anyone else, and changed into a spare shirt from his saddlebag in the stable before walking in.  The next morning, he ate breakfast alone while the rest of the patrons - a few stragglers who weren’t otherwise occupied on Christmas morning - buzzed about a murder in the city centre.  Yuri tried to feign interest, and then tossed his coins to the innkeeper and went on his way.  

The trip back to Zaphias took as long as the trip to Montroulez.  He was able to enjoy the scenery a bit more now that he wasn’t so fixated on the task that awaited him.  The ocean churned against the beach on one side while snow-covered hills rose up on the other.  Just outside a town he didn’t bother stopping at, he past a snow-dusted and lichen-encrusted calvary.  They were supposed to ward off plague, and Yuri wondered what a fat lot of good this one had done.  If only the plague had never come to Zaphias.  So many of his loved ones would still be around, and the witchcraft accusations would never have happened.  He would still be living with Hanks, he would still have functional hands and two good legs, Flynn would still be with him….

Yuri shook his head and tried to stop himself from wandering down that trail of what-ifs.  What if the plague had never come, what if Alexei had never invited Cumore, what Mari had never met that young man who started Mrs. Lagadeg’s suspicions against him, what if Flynn hadn’t been looking when Alexei killed his brother?  There were too many to consider and none of them changed the reality he was left with.  

Yuri spotted the spire of Zaphias’ church on December 31st.  He was glad it was New Year’s Eve because he’d never been more eager for a year to be over.  1628 had been a year like no other and he wondered where a single year got permission to pile so much grief into just 365 days. But then, he supposed it hadn’t been all bad.  After all, it had been almost exactly one year ago today that he met Flynn.  Maybe giving him Flynn was 1628’s way of apologizing for otherwise wrecking his life.  1629, he decided, was going to be better.  It certainly couldn’t be worse.  He was going to start over in Saint-Malo with Karol, adopting him just like Hanks had adopted him when his own family perished in the plague.  They would get by.  Maybe, with time, Yuri would stop hurting so constantly, inside and out.  

Because he didn’t know when he would be in the area again without Karol at his side, Yuri directed the horse up the hill to the menhir for one last goodbye.  Someday he would walk through it, but not just yet.  At the top of the hill, Yuri climbed off the horse with a bit more grace than the first time he’d been up here.  It had snowed this morning, covering the entire hill in a delicate white blanket broken only by the horse’s steps.  In the distance, the snow covered roofs of Zaphias shimmered in the late afternoon light.  The town looked peaceful, though Yuri couldn’t help but think of a smooth rock that revealed a crawling mess of insects when you pulled it up.  He rested his hand against the cold rock.  Across Brittany, the people who died today would be becoming the new Ankous for the coming year, but Yuri would not be among them.  Flynn had promised to wait for him on the other side, so it was time for Yuri to get on with life until it was time to see him again.  

That was when he noticed that the wax tablet he’d left sitting at the base of the menhir now sat on the small rock beside it, partially covered by a thin layer of snow.  Yuri frowned and dreaded the thought of someone else coming up here and reading his heartfelt goodbye letter.  Still frowning, he reached for the tablet and cracked it open. 

Yuri’s frown faded as he stared at the fresh words carved into a cleared wax slab.  His eyes absorbed the careful, precise penmanship that he’d stared at for countless hours while studying in the library.  He had to stare for over ten solid seconds before convincing himself he really was seeing this, and then he snapped the wooden book closed. He squeezed his eyes shut and leaned against the menhir, cheeks straining from the smile.  

It was almost funny how such a huge weight could be lifted with just three simple words: _I’m still here._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's a wrap! Thank you for reading and I hope you enjoyed it! And extra thank you to the lovely people who have left comments and really brightened my day!


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